The Winter Here's Cold
by Autumn Rayne
Summary: An ugly case, a clever killer.  Goren has some fun with Eames along the way.  Rated T, may change in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is my second LOCI story. Hope you like. This is not written into a canon time line. I pictured first season Goren, third season Eames and Ross shortly after Blind Spot. There will be some spoilers along the way but I will give shout outs when needed. Please R&R, but don't burn my house down.

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Prologue**

**Monday, October 11****th****, 10:28 pm**

**Major Case Squad Room – Captain's Office**

"Detectives, you have no finger prints, no DNA, no witnesses. Your victims are still unidentified," Captain Ross stated, not bothering to hide his frustration. He held up a hand, stopping Goren before he could speak. "I understand that we have a serial killer on the streets of New York City, but I don't understand how you expect to solve a case with nothing."

"Captain," Goren started, knowing where his superior was taking the conversation. "We can't drop this case. There is another victim out there. We need to find her."

"I'm sorry, but this is coming from Chief Moran. It's time to put this one down."

"Captain—"

"Don't argue, Detective Eames. Right now, there are other cases that _have_ identified victims and leads. We need to focus on those." Ross moved to the back corner of his office and grabbed his jacket. "Look, it's late. Head home, take tomorrow off. When you come back on Wednesday, I'll have a new case assigned to you."

"What happens when we find the victim?" Eames asked.

"Until that happens, Detective…Your killer didn't show like expected. There was no body left for us to find on the seventh. Without any useful information on the first three murders, what am I supposed to tell the chief?"

"Why don't you tell him he's going to have the blood of another young woman on his-" Goren grabbed Eames by the elbow led her through the open the door of the captain's office before she finished her sentence. "I can't believe you are going to let this go," she said as Goren closed the door quietly behind them.

"I'm not. You know as well as I do that we'll find her and in three weeks we'll find another one." Goren lifted Eames' jacket from the back of her chair, holding it for her as she slid her arms into the sleeves. "So Ross is going to assign us a new case," he shrugged. "That doesn't mean we can't work this one in between whatever comes up. Investigations on cold cases are allowed when nothing's going on."

"You're devious." Eames collected the file folders from her desk. "I guess that means we're headed to your place to set up shop." Goren smiled and held out his hand.

"After you."

**Chapter One**

**Sunday, November 7****th****, 11:47 pm**

**Marley's Drug Store**

Detective Robert Goren drew a small flashlight from the pocket of his coat and floated the glow from the bulb across the concrete of the back alley. The wind scattered the falling snowflakes, thick and generous, creating trails that slinked around his feet like snakes. The night was eerily quiet, the silence flanked only by a murmur of voices from Goren's fellow officers in the drug store behind him. In preparation for the winter storm now taking shape, most of the city stilled, unwilling to be caught in the expected two feet of snow.

The chill whipped around Goren as he approached the woman's body. Discovered half an hour earlier, she was as cold as the bitter air that swirled around them. The strapless dress she wore was torn in dozens of places, its light blue color consumed by her bloody wounds. She was missing one high-heeled shoe, the heel on the other broken and dangling from the leather sole. As he swept the flashlight over her body allowing a better look at her injuries, his heart sat in his throat.

Stepping around her legs, Goren crouched next to her outstretched arm. He carefully slipped his gloved fingers around her wrist, bending her elbow. He directed the flashlight to her hand. The blood that wound its way between her fingers was dry and brown. Her nails were broken, their black polish chipped. Goren hoped she had chanced an opportunity to scratch the attacker, taking with her some type of DNA evidence that would help identify her assailant.

"Our week starts early, huh?" Goren shifted, turning to see his partner approaching from the store's back door.

"Good morning, Alexandra Eames." She smiled slightly at his greeting, taking in his form, black cap and coat blending him into the unlit background.

"It's not morning for ten more minutes, Bobby," Eames quipped. "What do we have?" Goren watched as Eames sat on her heels opposite the body from him, noting that she was not wearing gloves or a hat. In spite of the dropping temperature, her coat was not buttoned, the grey hoodie she wore underneath not zipped.

"Jane Doe," he answered. "The store owner found her half an hour ago. He was taking out the garbage." Goren gently laid the woman's hand on the ground. "There's a…a heavy bleach smell." Eames nodded. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves, reached over and brushed the snow-covered hair from the woman's face.

"She's young. Twenty…Twenty-five, tops," she said. Goren nodded, agreeing with his partner's assessment. He tried to picture the woman as she looked in life. He mentally stripped away the lacerations and bruises, put the smears of pink lipstick back along her thin lips and the mascara that ran rampant over her cheeks back to her eyes. Goren suspected she'd turned more than her fair share of heads.

"She matches the physical descriptions of the other three. Same types of injuries," Goren stated. "Today is what? The seventh, right?" Eames nodded and stood.

"One month late," she said, shaking her head.

"Maybe Rodgers will find something in this autopsy," Goren said, rising. His words were hopeful, but his tone remained full of doubt.

"Ask and ye shall receive, Detective." Goren turned towards the open door, the red-haired medical examiner approaching with her team of four. "Sorry we're late for the party. What did we miss?"

"Victim number four," Eames supplied as she tugged off the latex gloves, placing them in a small bio hazard bag in her pocket.

"Oh, no," Rodgers sighed. "I was hoping with no body last month that this case was finished. All right." She turned to her crew. "Let's get a tent up and pictures taken so we can move her." Rodgers moved to Eames' side and looked down at the body. "I'll start this one right away. I should have it ready for you in a couple of hours." Eames nodded.

"Come on, Eames. Let's talk with Mr. Marley." Goren motioned to the door with a tilt of his head. He paused at the opening, allowing Eames to enter first. The heavy warmth in the building settled immediately around him. Goren removed the latex gloves, stretching and wiggling his tingling fingers. An older officer directed them down a short hallway to the office. Goren watched Eames as he followed her. She tugged at the collar of her coat, pulling it a little closer to her neck.

"Mr. Marley?" Eames held up her badge. Goren noted with amusement that Eames had pulled the sleeves of her coat over her hands. "I'm Detective Eames," she said, stepping into the small, cluttered office. "This is Detective Goren." Goren stayed in the doorway, the area, full of moving boxes, offering no real room for a third person. Mr. Marley looked between the two, old eyes red under his thick glasses.

"So…so horrible. I was taking out the trash." He leaned his elbows on the desk and ran a worn hand through his thin grey hair. "It's so dark back there. I wouldn't have taken a second glance…There was a car…starting up when I went out back. It was in the opening of the alley. Garbage trucks are the only vehicles that ever drive through. The headlights came on and it backed out slowly. I…I saw her laying there." He took several choked breaths. "I came back in to grab a flashlight 'cause I wasn't…I didn't know what it was."

"What can you tell us about the vehicle, Mr. Marley?" Goren asked lightly.

"I can tell you it was a car, not a truck. The lights were…lower to the ground." He shook his head. "The lights were shining right in my face. These damned decrepit eyes don't work worth a shit most days anyway." He waved his hand dismissively.

"Do you have a camera out back?" Eames asked pointing to two small monitors behind Mr. Marley.

"No, just at the front door and over the cash register," he said, tapping each monitor with trembling hands. "I turned them off last month. They weren't working all that well and since I closed up shop last week…Never bothered to get them fixed."

"Grandpa?" A short, younger woman pushed her way past the detectives crawling over boxes to reach Mr. Marley's side. "Are you all right? What happened?" Mr. Marley wrapped his arms around his granddaughter's waist. She pulled him in, comforting through his violent sobs. "What the hell happened to him?" she sneered at Eames.

"There was a woman murdered and left in the back alley," Eames answered with touch of her own attitude. "Your grandfather found her and called us."

"Oh my gosh. Grandpa, you weren't hurt were you?" Mr. Marley shook his head. Eames turned to Goren, who nodded and backed down the hallway.

"It's not a truck, it's a car," he said walking slowly backwards.

"A car," Eames repeated, her pace matching that of her partner's. "Ross is going to love our ambiguous first clue."

"It's a clue, nonetheless," he shrugged. "He wasn't in a hurry to flee the scene…" Turning to a set of access doors, Goren held one open motioning Eames through. "Have you heard anything from Missing Persons about our three Jane Does?"

"No," Eames sighed as they walked through the empty drug store. "They've had several hits on the basic description, but no matches to our girls. I had them expand the search past the tri-state area but they're still coming up empty-handed." Reaching the front door, Eames lifted her hands to push it open. Goren grabbed the rail, holding the door in place.

"Eames, how many winters have you experienced?"

"Plenty," she said, eyeing him curiously.

"How many more will it take for you to learn how to dress for the weather?"

"My car is half a block away, Bobby. I won't freeze to death during the walk." He released his grip on the door and reached for the zipper of her hoodie.

"At least zip this one," he scolded, hooking together the teeth with a slow pull upward. She offered a shy smile and pushed open the door.

**Monday, November 8****th****, 1:32 am**

**Major Case Squad Room**

Sitting quietly at her desk, Eames read over the autopsy reports from the first three victims. The murders occurred on the seventh of the month, starting in July. The women were found in various parts of the city, having been dumped in areas different from where they were murdered. All unidentified, the women were believed to be between the ages of twenty and thirty-five. They had similarities in appearance, sharing black hair and blue eyes, all very close to the same height and weight. The three women had been raped and strangled, and beaten and stabbed repeatedly after death. Rodgers determined the beatings more than likely accomplished with a baseball bat. The stab wounds were consistent among the bodies, created by a common kitchen knife. A large bruise present on the back of each woman presented how the killer used his knee to hold the women down as he strangled them from behind.

The victims suffered fractured and broken bones due to the post-mortem beatings, each in turn accruing a crueler pounding. Eames thought back to her first look at the fourth victim, knowing, without the assistance of the autopsy, that the injuries of Jane Doe Number Four were going to be significantly worse. Goren believed the killer raped solely for initial control over his victims and the destruction of their bodies after their deaths was his release of anger. The killer's confidence in his actions was growing as he found the release to be more comforting each time. Eventually, Goren had warned, destroying his victims after death was not going to be enough for the killer.

Eames closed her folder, sighed loudly and rested her arms and head on the desk. Her mind was scattered, her body sore, having been allowed a sole hour of sleep. Barely coherent when she received the call from Ross, she had showered quickly and grabbed her clothes, yanking them on as she made her way from her bedroom to the front door of her apartment. Eames hadn't paid attention to her attire or to the weather. She would admit, though not to Goren, that she had been cold during their stay at Marley's Drug Store. Once in the unusually warm squad room, she experienced a quick thaw and her muscles cried in protest to the extremes.

Eames sat up, her hoodie again unzipped and now hanging off one shoulder, and looked at her partner. His navy blue suit coat hung across the back of his chair, the first two buttons on his white dress shirt undone. She didn't remember Goren removing his tie, but was sure it was stuffed neatly in one of his desk drawers.

Goren's brow was furrowed in thought. He was as frustrated as she was over the lack of evidence. Not having identities for the victims cut off their avenue of finding friends and family, witnesses and possible suspects. He absently ran his fingers across his bottom lip then moved his hand to the back of his neck. Eames was attuned to Goren's usual restlessness. At the beginning of every investigation, she looked for it, expected it. It was part of his routine. She knew from this mannerism that he was becoming entrenched in the case and had learned over the years to ignore the behavior beyond its initial appearance.

This early in the morning, being the only two in the squad room, there was nothing to divert her attention from Goren's fidgeting. She glared across the desks as he went from bouncing his leg, to drumming his fingers, to tapping his pen as he read the notes in his binder. Pushing back her chair, Eames lifted a knee, crawling across her desk until Goren's pen was within reach. Goren raised an eyebrow as she retreated with her prize.

"You could just ask me to stop, you know," he said quietly.

"I could," she agreed with a smile. Goren watched as Eames settled back into her chair, flipping the pen between her fingers.

"A tank top, Eames?" he scoffed motioning towards her. "It's fifteen degrees outside and you're wearing a tank top?" Eames grabbed the edge of the hoodie and pulled it up over her shoulder. "Coat not buttoned, hoodie not zipped. No…no hat or gloves…but a tank top," he tisked.

"Crime waits for no wardrobe, Bobby." Goren nodded slowly. He kept her gaze for a brief moment. Holding back a smile, he reached into the top desk drawer and deposited a handful of pens between the bottom of his binder and the edge of his desk. Eames' eyes narrowed as she straightened in her chair. The corner of Goren's mouth lifted slightly, acknowledging his onset of the challenge.

"All right, you two, that's enough." Neither detective broke eye contact as Captain Ross entered the squad room. "I could sense trouble brewing before the elevator doors were open," he mumbled, pulling a chair up to the joined desks. He leaned on his elbows and looked between his detectives. "So, fourth victim?"

"Looks that way," Eames answered. "Rodgers is working on the autopsy now. We'll know more when she's finished." Ross pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What are the odds of getting something useful from this one?"

"I don't think they're good, Captain," Goren sighed. "We have a very smart serial killer on our hands."

"One that knows how to dodge us," Eames said. "All four were dumped someplace different from where they were murdered. No hairs or fibers of any kind on the clothing from the first three."

"Or the, uh, the bodies. The first three were washed with bleach, effectively wiping away any usable DNA evidence," Goren explained.

"The fourth victim smelled like bleach, too," Eames added.

"I don't think it's any accident that we haven't been able to identify the women." Goren caught Eames' eyes and she nodded.

"They haven't shown up for Missing Persons because no one's around to report them missing."

Ross sat back in his chair and folded his arms, listening to a conversation of which he was no longer a part. This pair of detectives was still fairly new to him and he was still learning their form of cohesion. At first, the finishing of each other's thoughts and sentences had irritated him. He had initially taken the action as blatant disrespect, talking around their captain instead of to him. But the more Ross witnessed the behavior, the more he understood why Goren and Eames were the best detectives in Major Case. Agreed or not, they knew the other's location on the page. The fact that they were in each other's heads was a major tactical advantage during interrogations. In the handful of cases the detectives worked since Ross' arrival as captain, he had been present for every interrogation, simply to see the show.

"He's…he's stalking them," Goren stated. "Weeding out the women new to the city, the loners."

"He gains their trust after he makes contact, preying on their need for attention." Eames tapped Goren's pen on her desk. "What if we released the victims' pictures to the media?" Eames asked. "We could call in a sketch artist," she suggested. "Maybe we can get an ID from a neighbor or co-worker."

"Will this force the killer's hand in the next murder?" Ross asked.

"It might," Goren answered. "Or it could scare him off. Remember, he skipped a month. There was no victim in October."

"I think it's a risk we need to take," Eames said. "Someone out there knows these women. Anything they have could prove useful in preventing another murder and finding this guy."

"Your thoughts?" Ross asked Goren.

"I agree with Eames, Sir." Ross took a slow breath.

"All right, I'll get a sketch artist in touch with Rodgers for number four. He'll need access to the autopsy pictures for the first three."

"Not a problem," Eames said patting the folders on her desk.

"I'm heading home for a few hours of shut eye. Probably wouldn't hurt for the two of you to do the same," he said pointedly as he stood and looked at his watch. "Let's regroup at nine." Ross took a few steps towards his office. Shaking his head, he returned to Goren's desk, grabbed the stack of pens and plucked the loner from Eames' hand. "You can have them back when the two of you learn to play nicely." Goren and Eames watched as Ross withdrew to his office.

"Party pooper," Eames sneered quietly. Goren started a low laugh. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Goren leaned forward and turned, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit coat, pulling out his last pen. He smiled at the annoyed sound Eames made and scribbled something in his binder before standing and pulling on his suit coat. "You're coming over," he said flatly, donning his winter coat.

"I'm not putting you out anymore, Bobby. I can go home." She grabbed her coat, shuffling it up over her shoulders. "I've spent enough time at your place in the last month going over this case."

"Eames, with all of the snow on the roads right now and your hour drive home, you won't have any time to sleep." Goren stepped to Eames side.

"I've survived on no sleep before. A hot shower and a cup of coffee—"

"With a cup and a half of sugar…" Goren taunted as he leaned forward to put himself at her eye level.

"With a little sugar," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'll be fine." Straightening and retrieving his hat from his coat pocket, Goren playfully pulled it over Eames' head, covering her eyes. "Bobby," she scolded lightheartedly. When she reached up to free her eyes, Goren used the distraction to zip her hoodie and button her coat. He adjusted the hat to its correct position, making sure it covered her ears, ignoring the irked look Eames was giving him.

"You're coming over," he repeated. Goren slipped his finger into Eames' coat collar above the top button, purposely brushing her skin. "Come on," he said, tugging gently.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the kind reviews! As always, greatly appreciated. And, as before, my disclaimer did not make the first chapter. I'll figure it out one of these days. Not mine…pout.

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Two**

**Monday, November 8****th****, 2:34 am**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

Eames stretched her arms above her head, hands softly clunking the headboard of Goren's king-size bed. Though feeling guilty about sleeping in the bed while Goren occupied the couch for the nth time in the last month, she was grateful he allowed her to spend the night. Once out of 1PP's parking garage, the full threat of the winter storm presented itself in hip deep drifts of snow. Goren was correct, Eames' drive home would have been ridiculously long and driving was not how she wanted to spend her down time. She was content to sit in the passenger seat of Goren's car, cozy in her winter coat and his cap.

As Eames turned on her side, tucking her body further into the warm and heavy blankets, her thoughts wandered from the weather to her partner. As of late, she was spending a lot of time thinking about Goren's actions. His invasion of her personal space was nothing new to her. From the day they met, he was consistently in her bubble. Knowing it was one the many quirks that made Goren…Goren…she accepted the fact that he would always be close. In this chumminess, there were times when he touched her elbow or her shoulder to gain her attention when the words would not come out of his mouth. Prolonged physical contact, though, was something they never shared. She could remember half a handful of times where they held hands or walked arm in arm, but that was solely for the guise of undercover work and short lived.

Eames conceded that during a hectic investigation, passing notes and papers and file folders back and forth, there was bound to be a point where hands touched. She understood certain proximity was needed for two people to read the same piece of paper. She knew that Goren, when discussing theories after speaking with a witness, needed to dispel the space between them to keep their conversation private.

But in the last several months, Goren's procurement of Eames' attention came with lingering touches. Simple tapping on her arm turned into gentle fingers wrapped around her elbow or wrist, staying in such a position long after she was drawn into the discussion. Then he began to take her hand every time she had a file to give him. Sometimes his fingers found the folder, brushing hers as they took hold. Sometimes, he kept her hand in his while reading the file.

After a couple of weeks of prolonged handling, something shifted. _Goren _shifted…literally closer to Eames. He stood closer than necessary, she thought, when he read over her shoulder, something he did with increased frequency and little need. She noticed when they sat side by side that the space between their chairs decreased over a period of time, until there was none to be found. Resting his arm across the back of her chair, he leaned into her as he spoke quietly, even when they were they only two in the room. She tried to ignore it, tried to act as though these actions were normal, but, whether or not it was obvious, she knew she was failing.

She recalled a conversation they had in a hospital elevator two weeks earlier. The only two in the car, Goren maintained the physical intimacy, speaking quietly to her. Eames' mind came to a screeching halt, unable to focus on anything but the feeling that Goren was purposely trying to back her into the corner. The subtle smile on his face solidified that thought. He had asked a question she didn't register. Unable to answer, she watched Goren close the distance, tilting his head to the side as he leveled their eyes.

"Are you all right, Eames?" he had asked, fingers sliding lightly over her shoulder, smile tugging ever so slightly at his mouth. All she could do was nod in response. Goren pulled back when the elevator doors opened, allowing four nurses to enter. At the next floor, when the nurses disembarked, Goren again took to Eames' side. "You're sure you're all right?" This time, he asked while brushing her hair from her face, his fingers ghosting across her cheek. Before she could respond, the doors opened to the first floor. Goren stepped aside, placing his hand on the small of Eames' back as she exited.

One of many awkward moments over the weeks, it was the most intense to date. Eames closed her eyes, remembering the way Goren touched her before leaving the squad room earlier. Had he not grazed his finger across her skin, not had that look on his face, she would not have given his buttoning of her coat a second thought. She would have considered it part of his good-humored nature. And the tingle that crept across her skin from his caress was not unpleasant, nor unwelcome. She was just confused as to where it had all come from, confused as to why it was affecting her so much.

"Bobby, what the hell are you doing to me?"

-(*)-

Goren was curious by nature. He was curious about things, he was curious about people. His thirst for knowledge left him well-read and well-versed in the human psyche. He enjoyed studying people, learning and interpreting their personalities and mannerisms, predicting their interactions, good or bad, with others. Goren's liking and understanding of such things led to a successful career with the NYPD. Four years in Narcotics, he had a perfect arrest and conviction record. The last seven years, as a Major Case detective, he and his partner held the highest solve rate of any partnership in the department.

His partner…Alexandra Eames. The person behind the decision to pair him with Eames had truly given him a gift. She was smart and very good at her job. Top of the department when she worked in Vice, she was among the toughest of female cops. Eames was not only able to follow Goren's often wayward train of thought, but she also put up with his shit.

As far as Goren was concerned, that was no small feat.

Though there was an initial awkwardness at the beginning of their pairing, Goren and Eames now shared a familiar friendship. They spent time at each other's apartments, at hers when they shared a celebratory drink after a particularly hard case, at his when work demanded perusing files and autopsy reports well into the morning hours. They went out to dinner when their birthdays rolled around and when a case prevented them from enjoying a holiday.

Early in their partnership, Goren had promised Eames, under the threat of being physically assaulted, that he would not study her. He had kept that promise, for the most part. He made normal, everyday observations. He noticed when she was tired and run down, asking, as a friend would, how she was feeling. He noticed when she was grumpy, offering to take her out for a drink to let her blow off some steam. When she was thoroughly angry, he hung back and gave her space. When she was happy and excited, he listened as she shared her jubilation. Normal, everyday observations.

There were times, however, when Goren's mind wandered from natural reflection to inapposite musing. Sometimes they would flirt, a comment dropped here and there to render the other speechless. It was a game of comebacks, one he frequently let her win; one that, as of the last several months, spurred his mind to improper thoughts. Goren was curious as to what it would be like to get Eames flustered. He found himself paying more attention to her movements than her words, learning and gauging her reactions.

The first fervent thought he remembered had come earlier in the year, towards the end of April. Eames had come to his apartment near midnight with three autopsy files. It was the last piece of their puzzle and both agreed an all-nighter was in order for solving the case. Previous days of weather reports advised of severe thunderstorms but had fallen short on their counsel. The skies had been blue and clear until that night. Goren had opened the door to a thoroughly soaked and very unhappy Alexandra Eames. She had found a clean pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt in the go-bag in her car, but it wasn't enough to keep her sodden body warm. Goren had offered her one of his sweatshirts and then proceeded to mercilessly tease her about its mismatched proportions to her body. The case at hand quickly overtook the funny and the two spent the next three hours on the couch solidifying their theory.

When Goren's back could no longer handle the couch, he stood and stretched, and carried their coffee mugs to the kitchen for refills. Eames had joined his side as he poured the coffee, gratefully accepting the mug with an exhausted smile. Goren, leaning against the counter as he took his first few sips, had watched Eames as she put the cup down and stretched with a small laugh. He had been stunned by an intense need to reach out for her.

This need, regularly replayed and overly embellished in his mind over the following days, turned into a very vivid 'memory'. In his head, he reached for her hand, pulling her towards him, turning her so she was settled between him and the countertop. He unrolled the cuffs of the oversized sweater, letting them hang past her hands. Eames protested weakly, exhausted from their late night case study, faintly saying his name as she tried to decipher his actions. Before she had the mind to counter, Goren used the extra length of sleeve to tie her hands behind her back. Then he pushed her against the counter and skimmed his fingers up the back of her neck as he wound them in her hair. He imagined at this point Eames would try to remove herself from his hold, but in his scenario, he gently overpowered her and claimed her lips.

So Goren stopped letting her win the flirtatious comebacks. He pushed, lightly at first, noting the slight reddening of her cheeks when she couldn't, or wouldn't, counter. His common invasion of her personal space escalated, but in ways that, to anyone watching, would appear as normal interaction between partners. He was initially cautious and his actions were small. He would touch her arm or lean his shoulder into hers to get her attention, letting the contact last longer than necessary. As they read over files, he would lean his arm across the back of her chair, forcing more of the nearness, as Eames always shifted towards Goren to allow him a better view of the papers.

Eames, for her part, had no reaction to Goren's activities, commenting only once on his indifference to her personal space. He smiled at her remark, knowing his attention was certainly not lacking in that department. Two months ago, Goren made the decision to step up his game, his closeness becoming more personal, his touching occurring more frequently and in unnecessary moments. He could feel an awkward tense under his touch, subtle as it was, but she never pushed him away or told him to back off.

Eames' presence in his apartment throughout the last weeks did nothing to quell the thoughts he was having. One night, they had worked until three in the morning, putting together all the information they had on the three victims, working up a detailed profile of the killer and his proposed fourth victim. Sometime around three, Eames had drifted off. Goren coaxed her through a sleepy haze into his room. He walked backwards down the hallway, Eames gently in tow. She had mumbled something about not wanting to deny him his bed another night, yanking, unsuccessfully, to free her hands from his grasp. He laughed softly and continued to pull her along. After he had her soundly tucked in the covers of his bed, Goren laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling, much as he was doing tonight.

With Eames again placed against her will in his bed, Goren let his mind roam towards ill-placed fancy. He liked the thought of leading her to his room. Something about the look on her face that night furthered his need to bait her.

And he was ready to foster his entertainment.

**Monday, November 8****th****, 9:09 am**

**Major Case Squad Room**

"Sorry I'm late. I was meeting with the chief. Where are we on the sketches for the media?" Ross asked, stopping alongside Goren's desk.

"They'll be on air in the next hour," Goren answered.

"Good. Are we prepared if our killer steps up his schedule?"

"As prepared as we can be. Chances are he's had his next victim lined up for a few weeks now." Goren shook his head. "I hate to say this, but it's the one after that, uh, that we need to…"

"I understand," Ross sighed.

"Do you want some good news?" Eames smiled.

"I would love some."

"We got a hit on the last victim's fingerprints." Eames handed Ross a folder. "Macy Donald, twenty-seven. Picked up three months ago for prostitution. Last known address is a bust. She was a waitress at Givelle's. We're headed over after this."

"Givelle's," Ross repeated. "That's where I proposed to my ex." He handed the folder back to Eames. "Anything from the autopsy?"

"No," Goren said. "There were more stab wounds and the beating she took was more enraged then that of the first three, but we expected that."

"Still no DNA," Eames added.

"All right. See what you can get from her co-workers." Ross watched his detectives as they rose and grabbed their coats. They looked at each other and then to their captain.

"Um, was there something else, Captain?" Eames asked carefully. Ross hesitated for a moment.

"No. Let's try hard to get something this morning. I didn't want to bench this case the first time around. I certainly don't want to do it a second time." Ross turned and walked towards his office. Eames looked to Goren, eyebrows raised.

"Why do I get the feeling that he got quite the ass-chewing from the chief?"

"Ross doesn't deserve this," Goren said. "It's the chief's fault. He was the one that killed this case, not Ross." Goren followed as Eames made her way to the elevators.

"Yeah, killed the case," she scoffed. "I wonder if Ross knows that we've been holed up in your apartment working on this situation."

"Hmm…good question. But, I don't think he needs to know that we can't follow his orders." Goren smiled at Eames as the elevator doors opened.

**Monday, November 8****th****, 9:53 am**

**En Route to Givelle's Restaurant and Bar**

It had started a few months ago as an innocent joke spurred by Eames' irritation over the lack of Skittles in the vending machine. Goren happened across a pack of Skittles-flavored lip balm at the grocery store, tossing it into his cart with a smart-ass smirk across his face. He had given it to Eames the next morning, stating that when the vending machine was in the midst of a Skittles dry spell the lip balm would help subdue her cravings.

Eames smacked Goren for his not-so-subtle lack of compassion and asked how he would feel if she took away his cigarettes.

"Would the gum work for you?" she had snarked.

No, he conceded, it would not.

Nevertheless, Eames had enjoyed the lip balm, taking a liking to Strawberry Starfruit. Its sweet berry scent always lingered softly in the air and Goren discovered he, too, shared her fondness for that particular flavor.

As he sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, staring out the window, Goren contemplated the again existing smell. He recalled several times that Eames had used the lip balm, but none of those times played into his fictions like his present experience. He began to wonder if it tasted as delightful as it smelled. Turning his attention from the snow banks along the sidewalks to his partner, Goren made a mental note to explore that thought at some point. His mind, seemingly several steps ahead of him, was busy concocting numerous and potentially interesting ways to approach the subject.

Eames parked the SUV in an open spot along the curb half a block from Givelle's Restaurant and looked at Goren. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, as she pulled the keys from the ignition.

"What?" he asked.

"You look pensive. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," he lied. "I'm just wondering what we're going to find here." Eames nodded, taking his explanation at face value. "Let's go." He hopped out of the SUV, waiting for Eames to join his side before venturing up the sidewalk.

"I hate winter," Eames sputtered, pulling the collar of her coat tightly around her neck with hands that were again buried in the sleeves of her coat.

"It wouldn't be so bad if you _tried_ to stay warm," Goren chided, wiggling his gloved fingers in front of her.

"Bite me," she countered as they reached the front of the restaurant. Goren folded his hand around the door handle and quickly pulled his body between Eames and the door. She glanced up as he stepped towards her and clicked his teeth together in a quick chomping motion. Eames barely managed to keep a straight face as she pushed Goren backwards. With an exaggerated step back, he pulled open the door. Eames smiled a thank you and entered the building.

The warm, rich tones of wood throughout the establishment created an inviting atmosphere. The tables along the perimeter of the room were secluded by high-backed wooden benches, thickly padded under dark green vinyl. Dimly lit light fixtures hung over each table, furthering the cozy, intimate experience.

As the detectives waded through a handful of tables to the bar, Goren noticed the creek of the floor beneath their feet, soft and low-pitched. The old wooden planks groaned slowly under their weight.

Eames chose a stool along the middle of the bar, the spindled backrest wrapping around her in a half hug as she took a seat. Goren stood next to Eames, leaning his elbows on the granite bar top as a middle-aged man exited the back room on the far end of the bar.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here," he smiled, genuinely apologetic. "What can I get for you folks?"

"Uh, nothing to eat or drink," Goren said, showing his badge. "We have a question about one of your employees."

"Um, which one?"

"Macy Donald," Eames supplied.

"Macy. Yeah, okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Is she okay?" Goren looked to Eames than back.

"Why do you ask, Mr...Uh?" Goren held out his hand in question.

"No 'Mr.'. Just Mike."

"Mike. Okay, Mike. Why do you ask if…if Macy's all right?"

"She was supposed to close last night. Never showed up. I tried calling her this morning, but I haven't gotten a hold of her yet." Mike sighed. "It's not like her to call in sick, let alone not show up." Goren looked to Eames who read his signals.

"Mike," she started slowly. "Macy was found late last night, dead." Mike opened his mouth then closed it as shock started to settle in. "Anything you can tell us about her would be helpful."

"Wow. Um…well, Macy started working here eight months ago, when she first moved to New York. She's the best waitress I've ever had. Customers really liked her."

"Did she have regular customers?" Goren asked.

"Yeah, uh, lots," he said, leaning his hands on the bar top.

"Any regulars that paid too much attention to Macy?" Eames prodded. Mike frowned and shook his head.

"No. Most of the people that sought out Macy's tables were older couples, younger couples with kids. Macy had this knack for getting the wild kids to settle down and actually eat."

"Did Macy have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Well, kind of. There's this guy she met about two months ago. They came here for dinner twice a week. He seemed nice enough. She seemed to enjoy his company. I don't know if the relationship was serious."

"Does Romeo have a name?" Eames asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I never asked…Johnny…Jamie…I've heard her mention the name but I didn't really pay attention to it."

"Mike, we're going to need you to come to the station this afternoon and talk to a sketch artist." Mike nodded.

"Can we get Macy's address from you?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Chapter Three woot woot! I have to say, I posted this story hoping that it would force my brain to figure out where this was headed. It has entirely been the wonderful reviews and alerts that have helped me boot this along :) Thank y'all so much! I had fun writing this chapter...Hope you like it :)

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Three**

**Monday, November 8****th****, 1:07 pm**

**Major Case Squad Room – Conference Room**

Eames closed the door of the conference room and took a seat on the corner of the table. She leaned back on one arm, careful not to disturb Goren's open binder, and crossed her legs. She waited patiently, watching as Goren tacked a handful of call sheets on the corkboard. He took two steps backwards, tilting his head to the side as he glanced over the sheets. Nodding approvingly at their placements, he turned to Eames.

"Do we have more?" he asked. Eames looked at the piece of paper in her hands.

"This one thinks Victim Number Two looks like her neighbor," she said, handing it to Goren as she sat straight. "The kicker? The neighbor thinks so, too." Goren flashed Eames a sideways glance.

"The neighbor thinks so, too?"

"Yep," she said, leaning back on both arms.

"The neighbor is still alive…"

"Yep."

"Did the news report not specify that these women were deceased?"

"It did." Eames smiled as Goren slowly crumpled the paper and tossed it in the vicinity of the trashcan. He moved slowly to Eames' side and leaned over her, palms flat on the table, thankful neither of them had opened the blinds over the conference room's windows. Goren enjoyed the sobering of Eames' smile as she realized he was too close for her to change positions.

"I can one-up you," he said, his lips forming a teasing smile. Eames bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to avert her attention from Goren's eyes, fully trained on her mouth.

"Yeah?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah." Goren answered, his voice matching the softness of hers. He reached behind her for the binder with one hand, the movement allowing him to lessen the space between their bodies. As Goren's fingers curled around the binder's leather edge, the fingers of his other hand found Eames' wrist, gently pulling her into an up-right position. He handed Eames a folded piece of paper, moving back a step as she opened it and began reading. "This gentleman says Victim Number One looks like his wife did on their wedding day…fifty-five years ago, before," he held up a finger, "and I'm quoting here, 'the bitch ran off with the high school kid that used to mow our lawn'." He folded his hands behind his back, straightening his body and lifting his chin with an air of arrogance.

"All right, you win," she laughed. Smiling, he stepped closer and bent slightly at the waist to meet her eyes.

"I win," he whispered. Eames' smile faded, again; almost sure he was not talking about the call. Hearing a knock on the door, Goren crossed his arms and leaned back against the table not more than an inch from Eames.

"How did the media release go?" Ross asked entering the conference room.

"We have a couple of leads," Goren offered.

"Four hundred sixty-seven calls and you only have a couple of leads?" Ross sighed. Goren and Eames nodded.

"Three women who haven't been seen or heard from since June or so, two that went MIA in the last month."

"This one just came in," Ross said, handing Eames a piece of paper. "A Mrs. Pederson called concerning her neighbor, Margot Blanchard. She has not seen Margot since yesterday morning and hasn't been able to contact her. Check this one out first, and then see what you can find out about the others."

**Monday, November 8****th****, 2:15 pm**

**Apartment of Margot Blanchard**

Eames wandered slowly through the living room, eyes surveying the damaged furniture and overturned end tables. Carefully stepping around a broken frame and a pile of shattered glass, she hunched down and pulled a picture from the shards. An attractive young woman with black hair and light blue eyes smiled with arms wrapped around the shoulders of an older man and woman. Eames had no doubt the couple was the young woman's parents. The likeness she shared with them was more striking than any the detective had seen. Her heart sank at the thought of having to tell the couple their daughter was dead.

From her stooped position, Eames looked at the coffee table up-ended in front of her, seeing a brown leather strap peeking from underneath. Frowning, she dropped the picture and reached for the strap, giving it a gentle tug. Digging inside and finding a driver's license, Eames stood, purse in hand, and moved to the bedroom in the back of the apartment.

"She was only twenty-four," Eames said as she entered. Setting the purse on the light oak dresser, she continued her search. "Four credit cards, two major, two department store. Sixty dollars cash folded neatly in the front pocket…" Eames looked into the large mirror suspended on the wall above the dresser and observed the reflection of her partner.

Crouched on the floor at the foot of the bed, Goren studied the victim's face. She was face down, head hanging over the footboard. His brow was creased in concentration as he stood, tilted his upper body at an awkward angle, and gently touched the back of the woman's neck. Eames watched with amusement as Goren pulled his hand back, reached a second time, and pulled back again. Something on the front of the victim's body was calling his attention and he was having difficulty seeing it clearly without disturbing the crime scene. When Goren finally lifted the woman's head, Eames turned back to the purse, allowing the motion of her head to settle her light brown hair over her face, hiding the smile she could feel forming on her lips.

"Hand cuffs, a whip, and a pair of fishnet stockings," she continued. Eames noticed two gloved hands settle on the dresser to either side of her body. She met Goren's eyes in the mirror as he lightly rested his chin on her left shoulder.

"Are we talking contents of her purse or yours?" he asked softly, turning his mouth towards her ear. Eames thought back to Goren's actions in the conference room, closing her eyes as the feeling that had washed through her body as he stood over her started to resurface. He leaned around her arm, brushing her hair over her shoulder so he could see her face.

"I had to make sure you were still listening," she said, turning her head towards him but not making eye contact.

"Eames," Goren said quietly. "I'm hurt." Goren moved to stand fully behind her. "I always listen to you." From above her head he caught her eyes in the mirror, smiled and walked to the night table next to the bed.

"Sure you do," she mumbled under her breath. Eames turned her attention to the closet. "She has some very expensive gowns here," she said, fingers separating the plastic covered dresses. Spotting a box on the floor of the closet, she knelt and slipped off the flimsy cardboard cover. "Pictures," she said absently. She flipped through a handful of photos of Margot wearing the dresses through which Eames had just sifted. "They don't look professional, but they do look like modeling poses. Maybe she was just starting out."

"That would explain the gowns." Eames stood from her position and looked at Goren. "See? I listen," he said pointing to his ear. "Come here." She joined her partner's side. Goren reached across her, circled his fingers around her wrist, and gently turned her to face the body. "What does that look like to you?" he asked, hands on her shoulders. Eames frowned as she took in the woman's form. Her legs, folded at the knee, were tucked under her body, a foot wrapped in the covers. One of her arms was bent at the elbow, her hand resting along with her head over the footboard. The other arm was stretched straight in front of her, as though she was reaching.

"She was trying to get off the bed."

"The mess in the living room…that's where they struggled," Goren started. "He gets her into the bed…"

"Hitting her head," Eames supplied, turning to gesture towards the small blood splatter on the top of the headboard. "Loses consciousness?" Goren nodded.

"When she comes to, she's naked…He's in bed with her."

"She panics and tries to run. " Goren put his hand on the small of Eames' back and urged her a few steps forward. He pointed to a large light purple oval on the woman's back. "He jumped on her, pinned her down," she said, nodding her understanding. Goren moved to the foot of the bed, carefully lifted the woman's head, and pointed to reddish mark across the front of her neck.

"He used the base board to choke her." Goren released his hold. "This is our guy, Eames," he said quietly, stepping closer to his partner. "The marks…her physical description…"

"He didn't finish, though. There are no knife wounds, no signs she was beaten. No bleach bath."

"Our release to the media…He wasn't ready for this one."

"Damn it."

"We knew this could happen," Goren reminded her.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

**Monday, November 8****th****, 6:27 pm**

**Morgue**

"Oh, where do I begin?" Rodgers asked, running a hand through her hair. "Margot Blanchard," she handed Eames a file folder. "Cause of death is asphyxiation, specifically caused by the esophagus being crushed against the baseboard of the bed. In addition to the bruising on the back, I found bruising on the skin under her hair. Your killer held her head down over the baseboard while he was kneeling on her back." Rodgers leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "There are no wounds besides the gash on her forehead."

"Caused by the, uh, hitting the headboard?" Goren asked.

"Yep."

"We know she wasn't beaten or stabbed like the other victims," Ross said. "Was she raped?"

"There was no sign of rape," Rodgers answered. Eames sighed and handed the folder to Goren. "I do have one thing you might like," Rodgers started, reaching for another folder on the counter behind her. "Then again, maybe not. There were skin cells under her nails."

"We have DNA?" Ross asked as Eames took the second folder from Rodgers.

"We have DNA," Rodgers affirmed.

"Is it in the system?" Goren asked. Rodgers nodded. "How would we not like that?"

"When he's listed as a John Doe and our killer is responsible for seven murders in seven cities over the last nine years," Eames answered. Ross reached for the folder.

"Keep reading," Rodgers said. "There was DNA found at seven crime scenes. But, based on his MO, there are actually twenty-four murders he's suspected of committing."

"Twenty-four," Goren repeated, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

"I'll make some calls and have the police and autopsy reports faxed to you," Ross said.

"When…when do you place time of death for Margot?" Goren asked Rodgers.

"Uh, yesterday between noon and six pm." Goren turned to Eames.

"The other victims were…were beaten…stabbed…post-mortem. They were dead two, maybe three days before they were found." Rodgers nodded as Goren spoke, confirming his statements.

"Damn it," Eames swore. "He didn't kill Margot because of the media release. We interrupted him."

"This murder was already in progress," Goren directed towards Ross. "He's stepped up his schedule."

**Tuesday, November 9****th****, 8:52 am**

**First Rate Bank, Mortgage Department**

Goren sat comfortably in the nicely padded chair, lounged back, legs crossed with his left ankle resting atop his right knee. He kept quiet, having been warned by Eames not to play with the items on the desk in front of them. Goren watched the slender woman behind the desk organize a pile of papers as Eames questioned her.

"Janice? Yeah, I remember her. She only worked here…Oh, maybe three weeks. Then she just stopped showing up," she continued, grabbing a second set of papers and integrating them into the first.

"Did you try to contact her, Ms. Rhodes?" Eames asked.

"I left several messages. After four days, I gave up and wrote her off." Ms. Rhodes looked over her glasses at Eames. "It was more consideration that she should have been shown. Why are you asking about Janice, anyway?" she asked, returning to her papers. Goren noticed Eames' movement in his peripheral vision, turning to see her roll her eyes. Eames never liked doing interviews when she couldn't have the person's full attention. He lifted his elbow to the chair's arm rest and used his hand to hide the smile on his lips.

"Janice was murdered back in July," Eames said bluntly.

"Oh. Well…" Now she had Ms. Rhodes interest. "Why are you investigating her murder now? I mean, it's November. Wouldn't it have been better to do this in July?" Goren caught the rise in Eames' shoulders as she took a deep breath.

"Janice was not identified until yesterday," he said, not allowing Eames the chance to answer. "What can you tell us about her?"

"Not much, really. Like I said, she worked here just a few weeks. She was new to the city." Ms. Rhodes frowned as she tapped a finger on her desk. "I think she said she was from Idaho."

"Was she friends with any of your other employees?"

"I doubt it. She was working here full time and going to school through one of those on line college sites. She didn't talk about what she did in her free time." Ms. Rhodes opened a drawer and removed a third set of papers. "She did have a boyfriend, now that I think about it. Nothing serious. She started seeing this guy not too long before she started working here."

"Did she ever talk about _him_?" Eames asked. Ms. Rhodes shook her head.

"Once or twice, maybe. From what she did say, he seemed like a good catch. I think she said they met at, uh, Givelle's."

"Do you remember his name?"

"Jack…Jeff…Something with a 'J' I think." Putting the papers on the desk, Ms. Rhodes leaned forward. "You know…Janice had lunch with him the last day she showed up to work."

**Tuesday, November 9****th****, 9:47 am**

**Video Time**

"Well, Ciara, Kelly was murder this last August. We were hoping you could tell us a little bit about her," Goren started.

"Kelly was a bitch," Ciara stated flatly.

"O-okay." Goren laughed awkwardly. "Uh, can you think of anything else?"

"Nope. I just remember she was always going on and on about this guy she met. He was so sweet, took her to Givelle's for dinner…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah," she mocked. "He could've been king of the world the way Kelly talked about him. She had to rub it in everyone's faces."

"Does this king have a name?" Eames asked.

"I don't remember. Jason? Josh? Whatever. He wasn't mine, I didn't care."

**Tuesday, November 9****th****, 10:28 am**

**Pappi's Pizza Parlor**

"Brittney…Nope. Sorry, I don't remember any Brittney. Did you want to order a pizza?" Goren sighed and, again, showed the young man at the cash register his badge.

"No pizza. We're New York City Detectives. We need to speak to someone who knows Brittney Smithe." The young man nodded but said nothing for a long moment.

"So you don't want a pizza?" he asked the detectives.

"We want your manager," Eames said, her frustration showing.

"Fine. Sheesh, whatever." The young man walked away. "Try to be nice…" he mumbled. Eames reached into her back pocket and pulled out her handcuffs. She handed them to Goren who frowned in question.

"If _he_ comes back to talk to us, I'm going to kill him." Goren laughed and nodded his understanding. He put the cuffs in the pocket of his winter coat, thinking better of uttering the smart ass comment that was creeping through his head.

"Hey, I'm Rick. Kevin says you need to talk to me?" Rick, a man not much older than Kevin, took stance behind the register.

"Yes," Goren sighed. "Do you know Brittney Smithe?"

"Yes."

"Uh, what can you tell us about her?" Goren prodded.

"She's hot," Rick smiled. "And she won't return my calls."

"Unbelievable," Eames sneered, turning to head to the front door. Goren watched her leave.

"She's hot, too," Rick said. Goren turned back to the manager.

"Yes, she is," he agreed.

"You two ever…Uh, you know?" Rick asked. Goren smiled slightly.

"No, no we never, uh, you know'd." Goren studied Rick before carefully continuing. "She doesn't think that it's all that, uh, appropriate."

"Oh, 'cause you work together," Rick nodded.

"Right."

"Yeah, Brittney is like that, too." Rick leaned his elbows on the counter. "I try, man, but she keeps shooting me down. She started seeing this other guy she met at Givelle's." He shook his head. "Fucker takes her there for dinner all of the time. How am I supposed to compete with that? Damned expensive place." Goren nodded. He'd been to Givelle's several times. Though a higher-end establishment, it was certainly not classified as 'expensive'.

"Have you ever met the…fucker?" Goren asked. "Do you know his name?"

"Never met him. Britt said his name was…Jared? Jeffrey, maybe? I'm not sure. Britt wouldn't talk to me about him. I was just looking for some tips, you know? Trying to figure out what she likes and how I can win her over."

"I don't think you need to worry about that anymore," Goren said. "Brittney was murdered back in September."

"No wonder she wasn't returning my calls. Huh." Rick shook his head and walked away. Goren sighed and wandered outside to meet Eames. Leaning against the side of the building, she had her arms wrapped around her torso in an effort to stay warm.

"You should have stayed inside," he told her.

"Not with those idiots," Eames replied.

"Hmm. Rick thinks you're hot." Eames frowned.

"Great." She started towards their vehicle. "What did you find out from Tweedle-Dum?"

"Brittney had a boyfriend; one she met at Givelle's. " Eames looked at Goren. "Tweedle-Dum thinks his name is Jared or Jeffrey."

"John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt. Which one do you suppose is his real name?"

"Jingle Heimer," Goren quipped.

**Tuesday, November 9****th****, 11:17 am**

**Morrison Modeling Agency**

"Yes, actually, Margot did have lunch with her boyfriend that day." Mrs. Fields led the detectives down a narrow hallway to her office. "She didn't really talk much about him. Well, not to me, at least." She motioned Goren and Eames to two chairs in front of her desk. "Jenna would know. Jenna?" she called. A tall, thin red-head entered the office, looking very shy. "Do you remember the name of Margot's boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Caleb." Goren looked at Eames and rolled his eyes.

"Have you met Caleb?" Eames asked.

"No, I haven't." Jenna smiled softly. "But Margot says he's really sweet."

"Jenna, have…have a seat." Goren stood from the chair, offering it to Jenna. He knelt by her side. "You're close to Margot?"

"Yeah. I've only known her for a few weeks, but Margot has been…" Jenna closed her eyes and took a breath. "She's been a really good friend."

"Jenna lost her mother to cancer a month ago," Mrs. Fields explained.

"Margot's been helping me with…It helps to have someone to talk to."

"I understand," Goren nodded. "My mother…she's sick, too." He looked to Mrs. Turner, who nodded back. "Jenna." Goren took the young woman's hand in his. "Margot was murdered yesterday."

"What?" Jenna looked to Mrs. Turner. "No, that's not…That's not possible."

"I'm sorry, Jenna. Do you know where Margot met Caleb for lunch?"

"She wasn't meeting him; he picked her up. He took her to Givelle's."

**Tuesday, November 9****th****, 3:37 pm**

**Major Case Squad Room – Observation Room**

Goren straddled the chair, chin supported on his arm as he leaned over the back. He tapped the remote on his knee as he watched the grainy black and white security tape for the third time. Margot Blanchard stepped off the elevator and to the side as several others followed her out. She looked around, rather nervously Goren thought, and then down to her watch several times before a man approached her. She smiled, Goren wondering if the smile was in acceptance to an apology for being late. The man touched Margot's arm and kissed her cheek. It was a friendly, yet intimate gesture, very gentlemanly.

"Here are the last of the faxes…Cheyenne and Seattle," Eames said as she entered the conference room. "None of these victims had living family members either," she sighed. "I'm getting tired of reading police reports." She dumped the papers onto the table and took a seat.

"We should go out to dinner, Eames."

"Let me guess, you're in the mood for Givelle's?" she laughed.

"They have the best cheese burgers in the city, Eames," he said, eyes never leaving the monitor. "Lots of grease, lots of cheese."

"Wait a minute. You want to use me as bait, don't you?" Goren turned to Eames, flashing an innocent look.

"I was going to suggest we people watch for a while, but…" Eames shook her head and leaned back in her chair.

"Ross won't like it."

"We'll have to ease him into the idea," Goren offered. "I think he'll approve."

"Some partner you are," Eames mumbled, turning her attention back to the reports. "You're supposed to have my back and you're offering me up to a serial killer." He smiled and shrugged a half-assed apology.

Refocusing his thoughts on the tape, Goren stopped and rewound the tape to the point of the man's appearance. He watched the man intently, noting every little movement as he touched Margot, simple touches to her forearm as they talked, three times brushing the hair from her face. The man changed his stance numerous times, slowly getting closer to Margot. Goren noted Margot's lack of negative reaction. She was comfortable with his proximity.

Rewinding the tape again, he watched the people who left the elevator. With everyone bumping shoulders but no one catching his attention, he restarted the search, now watching the people entering the elevator. Again, there was plenty of jarring, but this time, one man stood out; a man Goren remembered seeing later in the tape. He was in the front of the group waiting to use the elevator and, when the doors opened, he stepped aside, allowing the passengers to exit. He was standing with his back to Margot and very close to the man with her. He allowed the rest of the group into the elevator, being the last to enter.

"Where's your purse, Eames?"

"In a drawer in my desk," she answered.

"Go, uh, go get it." Eames raised an eyebrow. Noticing she hadn't moved, Goren turned to look at her. His lips parted and the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. "Humor me," he said, tilting his head.

"Okay," she said slowly, leaving the observation room. Goren turned back to the monitor. He rewound, played and rewound the same ten second portion of the security tape. "Got it," Eames stated when she returned. Goren touched the pause button on the remote and moved his chair to the wall.

"There's another person," he said, moving to the monitor and tapping the screen. "I can't see the exchange…there's too much traffic…people coming and going." He played the tape. "There, right there." Eames frowned as she watched the two men come into contact. She didn't doubt there was some connection between them. Their physical interaction was much closer and more familiar than that of the two crowds shuffling in and out of the elevator.

"He put something in his pocket." She looked at Goren, knowing he had mentally peeled away the layers containing the other people to form a clear picture.

"All right, so…" He stood in front of Eames, lifting the purse strap to rest on her right shoulder. He slid the zipper, opening the main pouch. "He always…" Goren turned Eames, switching their positions so he could see the monitor. He cocked his head to his left. "He is a very…tactile person. He likes to…to touch. Like this." Goren brushed his fingers gently across Eames' left cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, mimicking the man's gestures. "He keeps the attention focused upward." His left finger traced a soft path from her ear, along her jaw, settling under her chin. Goren did not miss the hitch in Eames' breathing as he touched her skin, tucking away the observation for later analysis. "And he gets the keys from the purse." Goren held the key ring in the air between them. Eames frowned, snatching the keys from his hands and stuffing them back into their rightful place.

"Great." The two detectives turned towards the door, their captain clapping sarcastically in its entry. "That's a wonderful trick, Detective. Does this have anything to do with your case or do you just enjoy picking your partner's pockets?" Goren smiled.

"Our perp has killed five women. There have been no signs of forced entry. Witnesses place each victim with this new boyfriend the day before they disappeared."

"It's the same story in the twenty-four cases from across the country," Eames said.

"This security tape," Goren said, pointing to the television. "This is what he does." He turned back to Eames, stepping marginally closer. "A quick, very…personal distraction…" Goren again let his fingers wander over Eames' cheek. "And he takes what he needs." He tossed Eames' keys to Ross, who offered an amused smile. Eames slapped Goren's arm.

"Give me those." She walked to Ross, reclaiming her keys.

"This other guy…he's an accomplice," Goren said, sitting on the edge of the table. Eames nodded, making sense of Goren's thoughts.

"Laurel slips the keys to Hardy," she said, depositing her purse on the table next to Goren.

"Hardy has time to make copies of the keys while Laurel is out to lunch with the intended victim." Goren pointed to the monitor. "An hour and sixteen minutes past this point on the security tape, Margot and her date return. They wait for the elevator and when the doors open, Hardy bumps into them and Margot's purse falls to the floor."

"Perfect time to replace the keys," Ross nodded. "So you have a suspect that can turn heads. There is quite a sizable male population in New York, Goren. How many good looking guys do you suppose there are?" he joked.

"With the two of you in this room, does anyone really need an answer to that question?" Eames reached up, patting Goren's cheek. Ross rolled his eyes.

"Do the victims have anything in common besides their looks?" he asked.

"They were all single women, new to the city," Eames supplied. "No one had any family to speak of."

"They all met their boyfriends at Givelle's." Eames turned to the monitor as Goren spoke. She reached for the remote and pushed play.

"He knows where the cameras are. His back is to them the entire time."

"It's, uh, part of the stalking," Goren said.

"Has anyone seen this boyfriend?" Ross asked. Eames shook her head.

"The owner of Givelle's came in, but he was so indecisive about the boyfriend's appearance that the sketch artist couldn't get it right," she said.

"And all you're left with is a grainy view of the back of his head," Ross said, pointing to the monitor. "And as for Hardy…" Ross started with a teasing glance to Eames. "The picture quality isn't good enough for a clear description. What's your next move?"

"I say we send Eames undercover," Goren suggested.

"Bobby," Eames whined. "I thought we were going to ease him into the idea."

"I changed my mind." Ross watched as his detectives subconsciously changed their stances in preparation to argue their case with their captain.

"All right," Ross said. Goren and Eames looked at each other and then to Ross. "'All right' as in you have my go-ahead," he clarified slowly.

"Oh, um…Thank you, Captain."

"Work out your game plan; find me when you're ready to share," he said, leaving the room. Eames faced Goren, wishing she could knock the smart-ass smirk off of his face.

"See? I told you he would go for it."


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n** I would like to thank everyone again for the alerts and the reviews…And very much so for your patience. Life has taken over the last few weeks, fortunately, not in a bad way, just a busy one. I see that I have miffed the dates in the first three chapters. They really don't hold any super significance right now, but are fixed anyway. Sorry. Spoilers for Blind Spot in this one…Please enjoy!

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Four**

**Wednesday, November 10****th****, 6:47 am**

**Major Case Squad Room – Conference Room**

Though proud of his accomplishments as a detective, Ross knew his ability to build a profile paled in comparison to Goren's. The talent Eames brought to the table only strengthened the conclusions. As Ross circled the small conference room, he was amazed at his detective's ability to put together the puzzle pieces created by seven years of horrific murders. Stopping in front of the dry erase board, he slipped his hands into his pockets as he read the notes penned by Goren's left-handed scrawl. It was basically a rough draft of the report Ross had passed along to Chief Moran the night before. Moran made no effort to hide his feelings of Goren and Eames' explanation, calling the report 'a bunch of bullshit.'

Ross, however, followed the profile in complete agreement. His detectives believed the suspects were brothers and products of an abusive home. Goren didn't think the abuse was ever directed towards the brothers. Ross listened as Eames explained the father had abused the mother in every sense of the word and, in the process, taught his sons such a direct form of disrespect was acceptable.

Two of Rodgers' autopsies, as well as a handful from previous years, confirmed that not all of the women had naturally black hair or blue eyes. Goren had no doubt the significance held in those characteristics related to the mother. Affected physical traits did not matter; they were only interested in the perception. When questioned about the wide range of ages, Goren said the same. The women murdered in New York were between the ages of twenty and thirty-five, agreeable standards with the past murders. The youngest victim was seventeen, killed in Minneapolis. The oldest was forty-three, murdered in Cheyenne. As Eames dug into the women's lives, she discovered they were all on the move, away from home, away from friends, away from family. Goren said they were all convenient targets, marked by a man who appeared to them as friendly, offering to accompany them through their new surroundings.

Ross also agreed when Goren and Eames suggested that a significant event involving the mother pushed the brothers into acting out towards other women. Goren, still believing the brothers were never abused, said the act of raping was simply a way to control their victims, to control the situation. The physical trauma each woman experienced was an expulsion of an intense hatred of the mother. Ross had offered the death of the mother, wondering if the brothers simply needed another outlet for their anger. Goren said it was a possibility, yet something they wouldn't know until they were able to talk to the suspects.

Sighing, Ross left the conference room and headed towards his office. He knew the undercover operation was a long shot at best and he wanted several surveillance teams in place before Eames walked into the fire.

**Wednesday, November 10****th****, 7:53 am**

**En Route to One Police Plaza**

Goren wanted more.

Plain and simple. It was a conclusion he had come to as he crawled into bed shortly after midnight. The soft scent of Eames' perfume lingered on the bed sheets, beckoning ever so gently to the pesky voice that floated through his head. The voice kindly reminded Goren of the three times he'd captured his partner's attention throughout the day. The first time, he'd been bold, leaning over Eames as she sat perched on the conference room table. Goren still wasn't sure what caused him to commit such a forward action. He was at Eames' side before his head knew what his body was doing. Nevertheless, Goren was pleased by the change in Eames' demeanor. He relished the thought that she offered no resistance and that he could have so easily kissed her.

Would have, perhaps, if their privacy could have been guaranteed.

At the demanding of the voice, Goren contemplated the second time, his misplaced moment of weakness at Margot Blanchard's apartment. He should not have played his game while investigating a crime scene, but Eames handed him an opportunity and he could not fight the urge to take it. Goren again had her detained, this time against the dresser. As he spoke to her, he turned his mouth towards her ear, still watching her reflection in the mirror. Goren smiled as Eames had closed her eyes, her face mimicking the expression she wore in the conference room. He quietly savored the small amount of control he had over her at that point, certain in that moment that he had achieved his goal of flustering his partner.

Then the voice brought up the third time, the exchange in the observation room. Goren hadn't been trying to distract Eames as they played out the scene from the security tape. But when he touched her skin and she held her breath, Goren started to wonder just how far he could take his inquiry. The more notions the voice threw in his direction and the more Goren mulled over Eames' reactions, the more he realized pushing her buttons was not the end result he sought.

As he pulled his vehicle into the parking garage of One Police Plaza, Goren calmed his thoughts. He would have time later to decide what 'more' meant and how he would achieve this elevated task. For now, he had a serial killer to focus on.

**Wednesday, November 10****th****, 8:07 am**

**Major Case Squad Room**

"Didn't you get enough of those reports last night?" Goren looked up from his papers and across the desks to his partner.

"Doesn't hurt to review," he smiled. Eames nodded and started to remove her coat. With a great deal of hilarity he chose to keep to himself, Goren watched Eames pull off a hat and a pair of gloves. "Ross wants to see us." Eames sat down and pulled her chair closer to the desk.

"Are we discussing our great plan of action?" she asked, fingers licking the air in mock quotation marks.

"Yeah. Why…Why do you do…that?" Goren asked, gesturing towards her.

"What?" Goren dropped his pen on the desk and raised his hands to copy Eames' motions. She laughed softly. "Sorry."

"I know we don't have the best of plans, Eames, but come on," he joked.

"This is frustrating, Bobby," she said quietly. "After reading all of those reports yesterday…" Goren studied Eames as she started digging through her desk. He understood her trepidation. He, too, was concerned that they were on a path far longer than they had time to walk. "Did you see the acceleration in the time frame from the other cities?" she asked, still digging through her desk.

"I did. There was a month between the first and second victims. The last two victims were murdered within two or three days of each other." He frowned. "The murders were all in groups of three or four. It might not have been easy, especially early on, to establish a pattern of time."

"That's what I thought, too." Goren tilted his head to one side, a smile spreading slowly across his lips as Eames continued searching her desk. "We have five victims. Bigger city, more opportunity?" she offered.

"Maybe. Eames?"

"Hmm?" she asked, not looking up. Goren carefully pitched his pen, landing it in the middle of Eames' desk. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"Detectives." The pair turned towards the captain's office. "Join me." Ross waited until they were behind closed doors before continuing. "We have Randall and Edwards working on surveillance of Givelle's. They have two teams to monitor the restaurant from across the street and three teams to cover the inside once business picks up tonight." Ross sat behind his desk. "If our killers frequent this place like you believe, wouldn't the staff know what they look like?"

"They are more than likely there during the evening rush when the staff would be too busy to pay strict attention to them," Goren answered.

"The bartender saw Macy's boyfriend a couple of times a week when they stopped in for dinner," Eames started. "He couldn't give our sketch artist anything to build on." Ross nodded.

"So we send you in to get the killers' attention. What makes you so sure they'll bite?" Ross held up a hand. "No offense."

"None taken." Eames looked to Goren, taking a deep breath before continuing. "We're not sure, Captain. Right now all we have to play on is the change in their routine."

"They're escalating," Goren explained. "They go a month in between victims. The last two are a few days apart. Then they move on to another city. Even though Macy and Margot, _our_ last two victims, were murdered within a few days of each other, they didn't have the opportunity to complete their ritual with Margot."

"And the fact that there was no victim in October, leads us to believe that they're planning on sticking around for a little while yet," Eames continued.

"They need multiple victims to sustain the high. One at a time isn't cutting it anymore. October was probably spent looking for those victims."

"Tomorrow night?" Ross asked. Eames nodded.

"We'd like to join Randall and Edwards for a while today, see who shows up," she said. Ross looked at his detectives carefully.

"You know, the chief isn't happy about this," he said.

"He's never happy," Eames smirked.

"We could hand him the killers' heads on a silver platter and he still wouldn't be happy," Goren added. Eames looked at her partner.

"Perhaps you head?" she offered.

"Detectives," Ross scolded lightly. "Join Randall and Edwards as soon as you can. I'd like a call later."

**Wednesday, November 10****th****, 11:03 pm**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

Though there had been a few people over the years to see through Goren and Eames' undercover fronts, more often than not, the pair of detectives could ask their questions and gain the information needed to solve a case. But, Eames was not posing in this latest assignment simply to ask questions. She was posing to catch a killer; two killers; two killers who were as unknown to them as they were to the victims. With no information on the unnamed suspects, Eames knew her appearance was crucial for a successful mission. She needed to put herself in the spotlight to gain and keep the attention. Eames didn't care for the soft scent of hair dye that lingered around her, or for the itch of the blue contacts she now wore, but it was a small discomfort, easily overcome for the sake of the murdered women.

"Some of these victims were so young," Eames commented, rereading a couple of files. "Age might blow my cover," she snickered.

"I don't know, Eames." Goren reached over and lifted Eames' chin, studying her face. He was still trying to acclimate himself to Eames' new appearance. It wasn't, in his opinion, a bad look, just very different. "I think you could pass for twenty-something." Eames laughed.

"Yeah, twenty-nine plus five or six," she joked.

"I'd buy it," he said with a shrug, releasing her with a slight brush of his thumb under her lip. Goren grabbed the coffee mugs from the table and headed into the kitchen.

"You're slightly more cracked than I thought you were, Bobby." Eames turned her focus back to the reports on the coffee table.

"I give you a nice compliment and you insult me," Goren said, turning towards her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she smiled. Returning to the living room, Goren handed Eames her coffee before sitting next to her. "I wish our surveillance would have given us some leads," she commented.

"Randall and Edwards may still come up with something for us." Goren looked at his watch. "Givelle's is open for another three hours."

"At least it wasn't hard to put together a profile for going undercover," she said. "I just have to pretend that I am new to the city and without family. Well, provided I get his attention."

"Time to turn on that good ol' Eames charm," Goren commented.

"Oh, for the love of Pete. 'Good ol' Eames charm'?" she repeated, looking at Goren.

"Yeah. You know…the beautiful smile…gleam in the eye…that flirty little attitude of yours." Eames rolled her eyes and returned to her papers. Goren rested against the back of the couch, obscure thoughts developing in his head as he watched Eames.

"He's going to be…touchy, Eames. Are you going to be all right with that?" he asked lightly, carefully calculating his next move as he set his cup on the table.

"Bobby, I've done undercover work before," she said, not looking at him. "I understand the role playing. I'll be fine."

"I know…But he's going to try and get…get close. And it's not going to be the holding hands kind of close." Goren feigned a yawn and stretched his arms across the back of Eames' shoulders.

"Bobby," she laughed quietly, leaning away from him. Goren slid closer, dropping his hand from her shoulder, wrapping both arms around her waist, keeping her close.

"I'm just saying, Eames. He's going to test you…see if you can handle him being in your personal space."

"Oh," Eames laughed. "If that's the case, then I have an incredible amount of experience dealing with someone in my personal space." Eames shot Goren a playfully accusing look.

"Funny," he smiled, tightening his arms around her. "But I'm not a strange man murdering woman." He shook his head as Eames opened her mouth. "I'm not murdering woman," he corrected, trailing a finger along her jaw. "Pay attention to how he acts with you. Remember that he keeps the focus upward." He brushed his fingers across her cheek. Eames gently removed Goren's hand, shifting to square her body with his.

"I don't have my purse, Bobby. What do you think you're going to steal from me this time?" she asked, narrowing her eyes as she tried to figure out why Goren was playing this game again. Goren laced his fingers with Eames', moving her hand behind her back.

"What if he tries to kiss you, Eames?"

"What?" she asked quietly, carefully trying to pull her hand from his.

"What if he tries to kiss you?" Goren leaned forward, lips brushing hers as he whispered against them. Eames raised her free hand to Goren's chest, lightly pushing him back. He curled his fingers around her wrist and slid both of her hands to the back of his neck, keeping a small distance between their mouths.

"Bobby," she warned.

"He'll try, Eames." Goren lifted her chin. "Once he has you this close, he will not want to let you go." With a gentle force, Goren wound his fingers in Eames' hair and pulled her to his mouth. He let his lips ghost lightly across hers, watching for any signs that he was taking it too far. Eames' eyes remained closed as Goren pulled back. Her lips parted slightly and she took a slow deep breath. Eames dropped both hands to Goren's chest, prepared to push him away. Shaking her head, she lowered her chin, Goren dipping his head as his lips followed hers.

"Bobby." Her voice was barely above a whisper as Goren slid his arm around her waist. Before he could cover her lips, a knock at the door pulled their mouths apart. Goren kept his hold around her waist strong, refusing to open the gap between their bodies. When the knocking became more urgent, he sighed and released her.

Goren rose from the couch and stepped to the door. Peeking through the window, he frowned and opened the door.

"Bobby!"

"Declan," Goren sighed as he looked over the excited man at the door.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Declan asked, brushing past Goren without waiting for a response. Goren closed the door, watching his partner carefully as Declan stilled in the middle of the living room. "Oh…Hello, Detective Eames." She stood and glared at the older man. "Hmm. Interesting change in hair color. I don't…uh…I don't think it was the right choice." He touched his fingers to his bottom lip as he took in her new appearance. "No, no. Not the right choice."

"Declan," Goren warned.

"I'm going to take these contacts out, Bobby." Eames said, turning sharply on her heel. Declan followed her to the opening of the hallway, watching as she reached the bathroom and slammed the door.

"Ooh! She is a spit fire, isn't she?" Declan declared with a smile and a clap of his hands.

"Look, Declan…I, I don't think it's, uh, a good idea for you to be around my partner right now." Goren rubbed the back of his neck. "Or, you know…ever."

"What?" Declan asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Well, why not?" He looked down the hallway then back to Goren, understanding drawing on his face. "Oh. Of course. The PTSD…from Jo." Goren nodded. "It's fascinating," he said, stepping towards Goren. "This…this transference of, of blame…" Declan removed his glasses and put the end of the arm between his lips. "She associates me with, uh, with Jo, obviously, because Jo's my daughter. Forced in turn, Eames also associates me with her kidnapping even though I had-had nothing to do with it."

"Nothing to do with it," Goren mumbled as Declan sat on the couch, looking over the pictures on the coffee table. "It's late. What-what are you doing here, Declan?"

"I was, uh, in town doing some lectures and, you know, visiting Jo and I thought I'd stop by and say 'hello'." He looked at Goren and smiled. "I saw the news yesterday. I _knew_ it was your case. Brilliant move! Brilliant move!" He picked up two pictures and stood to pace the room. "Ballsy, but brilliant. Flush him out!"

"It was Eames' idea," Goren said, taking the pictures from Declan.

"Really?" Declan looked again to Goren, not bothering to hide his surprise. "Well, I clearly don't give her enough credit, do I?"

"Declan, we're trying to work here."

"Work?" Declan laughed. "What I saw before I knocked on your door didn't look like work to me."

"What you saw?" Goren looked at his window and frowned. "Were you…" He turned to Declan. "You were watching us? Through the window?"

"'Watching' isn't the right word. I walked by, the curtain was open…" He slapped Goren's arm. "You make me sound like a damned voyeur, Bobby."

"All right, Declan. It's…it's late; you need to…to go."

"Hmm…You need to get her out of your system, Bobby." He waved a finger at Goren. "She'll only distract you from your case."

"She's not distracting me from anything, okay? And it's 'our' case. Got that? _Our_ case. She's my partner, Declan, my _partner_." Declan nodded slowly, studying Goren.

"I struck a nerve, didn't I?" he asked. "You should see the look in your eyes, Bobby. I struck a nerve." Declan returned to the couch. "So, what thoughts do you have about your killer?"

"I can't discuss this with you." Goren gave an incredulous laugh as he knelt on one knee and gathered the pictures and files from the table. "Come on, Declan." He sighed and looked at his former mentor. "Go home," he said softly.

"She's going undercover, isn't she? Eames is going undercover."

"Declan."

"Bobby." The two stared at each other for a moment. "You have nothing on your killer, do you? That's why you had to release the pictures to the media." Declan rubbed a hand over his greying goatee. "You're not comfortable with her going undercover," he observed.

"Not really, no. But she'll be fine. Eames can…she can hold her own." Declan nodded and stood.

"All right. I'll go home. Finish your work. Don't let anything happen to your precious _partner_." Goren opened the door and ushered Declan through the opening. "Good night, Bobby." Goren closed the door and leaned against it. With a sigh, he closed the curtains and wandered down the hallway.

"Eames?" he called. Seeing a shard of light slipping from the partially closed bedroom door, he knocked softly and pushed it open. "Eames?" She was laying on his bed, back to him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Goren placed a hand in front of her, leaning across her body. He paid close attention to her face and to her breathing until he was sure she was soundly asleep. As Goren carefully pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed over Eames' shoulders, she stirred and turned to her other side.

"Bobby?" she drawled. He knelt on the floor and brushed his fingers across her face.

"Shh. It's all right. Go back to sleep." She took a deep breath and sighed contently, eyes never opening.

**Thursday, November 11****th****, 2:47 am**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

_"Bobby, no, not this time." Eames quickened her steps to catch up with Goren. She reached out, hoping to reclaim her go-bag and make a quick getaway to the couch. Expecting the move, Goren countered quickly, dropping the bag as he stopped and turned to face Eames. Startled by his sudden movement, Eames reflexively put her hands up. Goren grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the wall, hands to either side of her shoulders._

_"We could share the bed, Eames," he suggested, releasing her wrists to wrap his fingers between hers. "Either way, this is where you're sleeping tonight." Eames took a moment to steady her breathing before speaking._

_"I'm not letting you sleep on the couch, again, Bobby," she said quietly. Goren nodded slowly, stepping closer to Eames._

_"Sharing it is, then." He released one hand, bending to grab the bag. As he slung the strap over his shoulder, he pulled Eames from the wall. "Which side do you prefer?" Goren asked, tugging her along._

_"I prefer the couch, Bobby."_

_"That's not an option, Eames." Goren stopped in front of the bedroom, positioning Eames' back along the closed door. "Left or right?" he asked, reaching towards the door knob. "Maybe…" Goren stopped halfway through the motion of turning the knob. "It's the middle, isn't it?" he asked, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "You like to sleep in the middle of the bed." Goren turned the knob the rest of the way opening the door as he backed Eames into the room. "That's a cozy spot with another body in the bed. Don't you think so?" Goren walked Eames backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed._

_"This side or that side?" he asked again, tossing the bag aside. He kissed her softly._

_"Bobby-"_

_"Middle," he whispered against her lips. He slipped an arm around her waist and one behind her knees. He picked her up, kneeling on the bed as he laid her in its center. He covered her mouth with his; feathering kisses across her lips as he slid in next to her and pulled the covers over their bodies._

_Eames put her hands on Goren's chest with every intention of pushing him away. But, when Goren deepened the kiss and settled his weight on top of her, Eames' hands forgot their duties. Goren lay over her, hand cradling her head, arm possessively around her torso. As Eames squirmed under him, Goren held her tightly, limiting the places she could move to the contours of his body. _

_"Bobby," she mumbled in between kisses. "We shouldn't…do this…" Goren shifted, focusing his lips on her neck. Pulling back, he propped himself on his elbow and moved his arm from her waist._

"_Wake up, Eames," he said, lightly brushing her hair from her face._

_"What?"_

_"Wake up."_

Eames slowly opened her eyes, noting Goren's form on the edge of the bed before quickly closing her eyes against the bright light of the lamp on the night table. Eames groaned and turned her head away.

"I don't want to go to school today," she whined, mentally kicking herself for dreaming about her partner.

"Very funny, Sleeping Beauty." Eames turned back to her partner. "There's another body."


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n **It was a dark and stormy night…Mwha ha ha ha. Y'all have left some awesome reviews and private messages, thank you. It tickles me pink that your musings are right in line with mine. I hope that means I'm on the right track!

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Five**

**Thursday, November 11****th****, 3:27 am**

**En Route to Central Park**

Eames turned towards the passenger seat of the SUV, stealing a quick glimpse of her partner. Goren, mumbling to himself, sat scrunched over the open binder in his lap. With a small flashlight in one hand, a pen in the other, Goren scribbled his musings. By the extent of his left hand's movement, Eames had no doubt the crisp white sheet of paper with which he had started would quickly become a tangled mess of half-finished thoughts and scratched out theories.

Shifting her attention back to the road, Eames tried to prepare herself for the sight of another body, but she struggled to maintain focus. She continued to revert to the moment on Goren's couch, the moment where his lips brushed against hers, the moment when she was completely severed from reality.

Eames knew Goren liked to flirt. 'It's a game of wit more than of words,' he had once told her. He enjoyed the continual competition of volleying ever-growing suggestions. She, too, enjoyed the game, basking in the all-too-rare moments when she could stop Goren in his tracks. Eames considered his behavior over the last few months and wondered if their contest had plateaued. Maybe the words no longer held the allure. Maybe he needed more of a challenge and being physically attentive was the logical next step. And maybe Goren really _was_ just testing her reaction to having someone so close. It had been his suggestion to send her undercover and Eames knew the personal torture Goren would impose upon himself if she were to be hurt.

Eames leaned an elbow on the ledge of the driver's door, her hand supporting her head. She was spending a lot of time trying to interpret Goren's behavior, and no time deciphering her own. Why did she continue to let Goren be in a position to do the things he had in the past months? When he tried to kiss her earlier, why didn't she push him away? If he was gaging her ability to successfully complete this undercover job, he would have backed off without issue. But she let him advance. She let him wrap his arms around her. She let him pull her into his embrace. If Declan had not knocked on the door, would she have let Goren complete this chain of events?

Eames sighed quietly, cautioning herself about the avenue of thoughts she was dangerously approaching. She shoved all whims of her partner to very isolated part of her mind and directed her energy towards the case.

"Eames?" Goren turned off the flashlight and looked to Eames. The light from the streets lamps floated a soft yellow square up over the steering wheel and along her arms. It settled briefly over her face, allowing Goren to see the light crease in her brow. She was clearly deep in thought and not paying attention to him. "Eames?" he repeated. Startled from her thoughts, she turned briefly towards her partner.

"Yeah?"

"Are you listening?" he asked.

"Yeah." Eames turned her eyes back to the street. "Of course I'm listening."

"Hmm. So what do you think?" he smirked. Eames slowed the SUV as it approached the red-lit intersection, turning to Goren only when the vehicle was at a complete stop.

"All right, maybe I wasn't listening," she admitted, shrugging an apology when Goren held up a scolding finger. Closing his binder and slipping the pen and flashlight into his coat pocket, he studied the dashboard. Bathed in the red light, the black rubber took a purplish hue. After a few very long silence-filled seconds, the light turned green and Goren again turned his attention to Eames. He shifted, as much as the seat would allow, wanting a clear view of her face.

"When I came in to wake you, you were…you were pretty restless," he started. "Were you having a, uh, a nightmare?"

"Um, yeah," she lied, eyes steadily focused on the road.

"Look, Eames, I'm sorry about…about Declan. I—"

"Don't, Bobby. Don't you _dare_ apologize for him." She flashed Goren a stern look. He nodded and held up a hand in surrender.

"I just…I hope that wasn't your nightmare." Eames eased the vehicle curb side, shifted into park and looked at Goren, genuine concern seeping from his brown eyes.

"It wasn't, Bobby," she reassured him. "It wasn't."

"Okay…okay." Goren smiled softly and gestured towards the window. "Ready?"

"As ready as one can be for something like this." Eames took a deep breath. "Bobby?" She ran her hands across the front of the steering wheel, but said nothing.

"Eames?" Still silent at Goren's prodding, he reached out and gently touched her arm. "What's wrong?" Eames sighed, turned to Goren and offered a smile.

"Nothing. Come on; let's go." Goren watched Eames exit the SUV and round the front. He, too, stepped out, holding out his hand as they approached the knee-high snow bank along the curb. Eames accepted Goren's hand, thankful for his steadiness as her first step over the bank landed her up to her waist in snow. She heard Goren laugh as he took his first step, the snow hitting him mid-thigh.

"You make any type of short joke and the NYPD will be looking for your body next," Eames threatened.

"Yea, Ma'am." Goren took two more steps down the slope, turned and helped Eames to the bottom. They continued across the snow to Ross and Rodgers. A small group of officers stood in front on them, taking pictures and blocking off the area around the body. "There goes our shot at footprints," he mumbled. Ross turned around.

"Detectives," he greeted. "And don't worry. We've had enough snow over the last few hours; there were no footprints to find."

"Who found her?" Goren asked.

"We don't know," Ross answered. "It was an anonymous call." Ross reached into his pocket, the chirp of his cell phone growing louder as it was extracted. He frowned at the caller ID. "Excuse me." As Ross separated himself from the group, Rodgers crossed her arms in front of her chest and motioned with a nod of her head for Goren and Eames to follow.

"My dear detectives," she started, "you are going to love this one."

"Look at this." He handed the binoculars to his older brother. "Standing around, scratching their heads. Just like all of the others."

"After all this time, it still surprises you?" his brother asked.

"No, I guess not." He took a bite of his pizza. "Check out the black-haired beauty," he said around a mouthful of food.

"Hmm, nice."

"I know that Francine was supposed to be our last, but…" He looked at his brother. "I have an idea."

**Thursday, November 11****th****, 6:58 am**

**Major Case Squad Room – Captain's Office**

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm really getting sick of seeing the two of you," Rodgers said as she entered the captain's office. She handed a folder to Eames.

"Same here, Doc," Goren smiled. "Did you get a confirmation on her identity?"

"Yes, through dental records. She _is_ Francine Maxwell, the same woman on the driver's license found with the body."

"Did you find anything else that will help us?" Ross asked. Rodgers shrugged.

"I can't establish a time of death. Based on the amount of snow that was covering the body, I'd say she'd been out there for three to five hours. The cold has slowed down rigor and decomp and accelerated the rate of cooling. It's also caused inconsistencies in regards to lividity." Rodgers took a breath. "She was beaten and stabbed like the others. You saw the body," she said, holding up a hand. "I don't need to tell you how much more severe this one was. But, when I did the autopsies on the other victims, there was a healthy amount of blood present in the bodies. This time, there wasn't."

"Shit," Goren said, taking a seat. "It was pre-mortem?" Rodgers nodded.

"She was raped and the semen we found is a match to the other samples." Ross ran a hand over his face and stood to pace the small room. "Is this it?" Rodgers asked, looking between Goren and Eames. "Is this the last victim?"

"I don't know how we answer that," Eames said. "I hope to hell it is, but that means our killers leave town."

"Take a look at Francine's apartment," Ross said. "See what turns up."

**Thursday, November 11****th****, 8:07 am**

**Apartment of Francine Maxwell**

"Look at this place," Eames said, carefully stepping through the door and around a large, dark brown spot of blood on the white carpet.

"This is different. _This_ is our crime scene," he said, framing his vision with his hands. "We didn't find that with any of the other victims." Goren side-stepped the stain, standing opposite his partner. "Except for Margot's, but I don't think that one happened as they planned." He continued through the small living room minding smaller spots of blood and entered the kitchen. "Knives…all over the floor." Eames moved to the tiled peninsula, standing on her toes to see over the countertop. His hand slowly swept the air around him. "There's blood everywhere."

"Why here?" she asked. "The others weren't murdered in their apartments." Goren shook his head.

"I don't know. Maybe…If she was the last victim…" Goren sighed in frustration. "But there was nothing like this in the other police reports. The locations of those murders were never discovered."

"Maybe they wanted us to find this." Eames turned and headed towards the closed door of Francine's bedroom, noting the bloody, smeared hand prints along the wall.

"Oh," she groaned as she opened the door, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. She felt Goren stop behind her. "We're going to need a team in here."

"Yeah." Goren's eyes roamed over the room. "This is where she was beaten," he said, reaching over Eames' shoulder to point to the blood splatters on the ceiling above the bed.

"What are we going to do, Bobby?" she asked quietly. "There's no telling when this happened. Our guys could be hundreds of miles away by now."

"I know," he signed and took a step back as Eames closed the door. "We'll figure something out, Eames." She nodded. "Let's call the CSI team and get this back to Ross."

**Thursday, November 11****th****, 6:34 pm**

**Major Case Squad Room – Captain's Office**

"Have you seen the body?" Chief Moran spat.

"Have you?" Eames returned viciously, both words bitterly laced.

"You are out of line, Detective Eames!" Moran straightened, reaffirming his authority. "There will be no more surveillance teams, no undercover stunt. Period."

"Chief Moran, we have to find these guys," Goren interjected.

"Detective Goren, your own research suggests that this is the last victim. Are you going to wander the city looking for two guys who are more than likely states away?" The chief turned towards Ross. "Captain, I suggest you get your detectives under control." He eyes Eames as he continued. "Maybe teach them how to show some respect." The three watched their superior furiously storm from the office. Ross took a deep breath, closing the door as he looked at the partners.

"All right, you heard the chief. No more—"

"Captain—"

"Shut it." Eames closed her mouth, knowing it was not the time to push. "No more surveillance. No undercover work." Ross' eyes traveled carefully from Eames to Goren, whose anger showed as much as Eames'.

"Captain," Goren pleaded. "They left a driver's license with the body. Her apartment was…it was left in that condition…for us to find. They're mocking us, Captain."

"They are practically begging us to find them," Eames added.

"Both of you have done a great job on this case and I think you deserve the night off. In fact," he said quickly, before he could be interrupted a second time. "I'd like to treat you to dinner." Ross waited for a moment as his detectives exchanged a confused look. Moving to the rack at the back of his office, Ross grabbed his coat. His back to Goren and Eames, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and smiled.

"Uh, Captain?" Goren urged him to continue. Ross turned.

"Well, I remember Givelle's having the best burgers." He raised an eyebrow. "Lots of grease, lots of cheese." Goren tipped his head, a smile tugging on his lips. "Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes."

**Thursday, November 11****th**** 8:30 pm**

**Givelle's Restaurant and Bar**

Ross agreed with his detectives. The killers were taunting and creating that perfect moment to stick it to the NYPD. Every instinct he'd nurtured and developed over the years screamed at him, saying this was not the time to follow Moran's direction. Goren and Eames were right to proceed with their undercover work. Ross made it very clear to both detectives just how far he had jumped over the line not only allowing but accompanying them to Givelle's. And though they both understood this opportunity was a one-time offer, they left One Police Plaza with renewed spirit.

Ross could feel that energy during the drive to the restaurant. Goren and Eames sat in the back seat of the black SUV, discussing the finer details of Eames' undercover profile. He thought it funny that he, not Eames, was driving, but he understood the need for the pair to prepare with no distractions. Having dropped off Eames a block from Givelle's, Ross and Goren waited in the SUV, allowing Eames time to enter the establishment and settle in before they followed. Ross found himself flooded with mixed anxiety, concern for Eames' safety, excitement to be part of the chase, hope that this would be the breaking point of the case.

It wasn't until they entered Givelle's, ten minutes after Eames, that Ross' fears, and more so those of his detectives, materialized. The restaurant was near-empty, bearing only seven people. From the corner of his eye, Ross saw the drop in Goren's shoulders. The captain said nothing, simply moving to the bend in the bar, sitting on the left side. To his right, at the far end of the bar, Ross spotted Eames. She, too, looked defeated.

"Are we late for Happy Hour?" Ross had asked the red-haired bartender.

"Nope. You're right on time." The bartender had blamed the drop off in business on a rumor spreading through the city. "Everyone says the killer found his victims here." Ross had ordered a drink at that point and decided to let Goren and Eames have the final say in continuing. After Goren had ordered, Ross watched a silent conversation take place between Goren and Eames.

After an hour of small talk between watching the other patrons, Goren nudged Ross' elbow, motioning for him to look at Eames. A shorter, balding gentleman with glasses took a seat next to Eames, politely shaking her hand in greeting. Eames offered a smile and quickly checked to make sure Goren was paying attention.

"I expected…Not someone like him," Ross commented. Goren nodded.

"It doesn't seem right," he agreed. The two continued to observe the man's interaction with Eames. Twenty minutes into their watch, Goren looked down at his glass and laughed quietly.

"Something you'd like to share, Detective?" Ross asked, taking a drink of his beer.

"Uh, this isn't…isn't our guy." Goren sat back in his chair. "Do you see the dirty looks Eames is giving me?" Ross looked passed Goren, noting the not-so-amused look on Eames' face.

"Yes," he said, smiling.

"She's been looking at me that way for the last ten minutes. This guy hasn't even noticed." Goren leaned his elbows on the bar. "He hasn't looked at her since he first sat down. Our guy…he would be paying a lot of attention to her." Goren grabbed his glass, taking the last sips of his beer. "She doesn't think he's our guy, either." Ross shook his head.

"I've had some good partners over the years, but it is damned scary how the two of you can communicate the way you do."

"Just lucky, I guess," Goren smiled.

"Detective," Ross started slowly. "It's been an hour and a half..." Goren met Ross' eyes and nodded.

"I understand." Ross finished his beer, stood and put on his coat.

"Go rescue your partner. I'll meet you outside." Goren stayed in his seat for a few minutes after his captain left. He was angry, frustrated. He knew the second they walked into Givelle's that the lack of people would mean no showing of the killers. He appreciated Ross allowing them this prospect. Sighing, Goren waved over the red-haired bartender.

"What is she drinking?" Goren asked, specifying Eames with a tilt of his head.

"Martini," he answered, eyes never leaving Goren's. "She's been looking at you all night, Buddy." Goren smiled.

"Is that so?"

"Yep. Shall I send one over?"

"Please." Goren paid for the drink and watched Eames as the bartender approached her.

"To the pretty lady at the end of the bar," he said, setting the drink in front of her. "From the gentleman at the other end." He smiled and walked away. Eames looked over her balding companion, now slumped over his drink, and offered Goren a roll of her eyes. '_It's about time_,' she was telling him. Goren moved from his chair to stand between the man and his partner.

"Hi," he said quietly. "I'm Robert."

"Alex," she replied. "Thank you for the drink."

"You're very welcome." Goren looked at the man who immediately excused himself and relinquished his seat. Goren laughed as he sat. "Not our guy?" he asked with feigned disappointment.

"Un, no, _not_ our guy," Eames affirmed. She took a drink of her martini. "On the plus side, I've learned more in the last twenty minutes about applying for a mortgage loan than I ever really wanted to know," she said, popping an olive in her mouth.

"So you're not interested?"

"I am _not_ interested," she answered matter-of-factly. Goren stood and pulled Eames to her feet.

"Come one, let's get out of here," he said, helping Eames with her coat.

"I have a drink to finish," she pouted.

"I'll owe you one. Come on." Goren took Eames' hand, leading her to the door. As they reached the entrance, Eames looked over her shoulder, finding that her bald friend had moved on to a pretty young blonde.

**Thursday, November 11****th****, 9:37**

**Major Case Squad Room – Conference Room**

"I don't know what to say." Ross shook his head. "Right now, I suggest the two of you go home and get some rest. It's been a long week, early mornings, late nights…" Ross sighed. "We'll discuss the next move in the morning." Eames watched Ross leave the room and then took a long moment to study her partner. As he sat on the table concentrating on the papers hanging on the walls, she could see the weariness in his face. His shoulders were hunched, his body clearly worn out.

"Bobby?"

"We have to be missing something, Eames." She moved to Goren's side, leaning a hip against the table.

"Ross is right, Bobby. We need to find a way to take a step back, clear our heads." Goren nodded. Part of him wanted to argue to argue with Eames, but he did not have the energy to do so. They were in a maze of vines, unyielding to their efforts of escape. After five months on the case, extracting themselves wasn't going to be easy. Goren stared down the papers, willing something, _anything_ to make its presence known. But just as the detectives sat quietly, so the papers remained silent. Eames recognized the look on her partner's face, knowing his mind was rebooting, trying to sink itself further into the case. She hooked her arm around Goren's, tugging gently.

"Move it, Detective. You owe me a drink."


	6. Chapter 6

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Six**

**Friday, November 19****th****, 7:17 pm**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

Leaning his hands against the shower wall, Goren dropped his head and let the hot water run down the back of his neck. The last seven days had been some of the longest of his life. He had hoped the discovery of Francine Maxwell's body would produce new channels to explore. But there had been no new clues, no new evidence; nothing to pull the case from the deep freeze it was experiencing. Goren did not want another victim, he wanted the killers; though he knew he could not have one without the other.

The city, much like the case, was cold, plunged into near-zero temperatures and blanketed in a fresh seventeen inches of snow and thick, heavy ice. The weather had slowed the rush of cases across Ross's desk, allowing the captain to keep his detectives free on the chance the case would warm. Ross had returned Goren's stash of pens, calling the circumstances a convenient opportunity for catching up.

"The gods of paperwork work in mysterious ways," he had snarked. Relieved to not be tied up with another puzzle, the detectives had gladly taken to their forms. It had taken Eames two hours and thirteen minutes to be fully annoyed with Goren's staring at his phone, waiting for the call that would break the case, something he didn't realize he was doing until the wadded up 6-4 form came sailing across the desks, hitting him square in the forehead.

"A watched pot never boils, Bobby," Eames had remarked, smiling and clearly pleased at having hit her mark.

"Behave," he'd told her. "Ross won't take away the forms like he took away my pens."

Goren turned off the water and slid the shower curtain to the right. Stepping out, he reached for a white towel from the bar along the wall and wrapped it around his waist. Grabbing a second, he flipped it over his head, rubbing vigorously to dry his hair. After two days of welcomed desk duty, Goren and Eames had successfully appeased the paperwork gods. As they prepared to head home that Tuesday night, Goren had wondered out loud what the next day would bring.

"Maybe we can do the other detectives' paperwork," Eames had offered, stepping into the elevator. The doors closed quickly behind the pair and Goren took Eames' elbow, gently turning her to face him. He softly touched the back of his hand to her forehead.

"Hmm…No fever." He'd eyed her questioningly. "Are you that desperate to be stuck behind your desk?"

"Just thinking if it keeps us available…" Goren had nodded as she shrugged; he understood.

For the rest of the week, Goren and Eames found themselves holed up in the conference room, organizing their notes and reports and adding them to the other precincts' files. It was a bitter-sweet intermission, an ending of murders in New York, a beginning of the gruesome cycle in another city. Goren could only hope the next set of detectives be quick in their research, finding this sad collection of information before the killers once again slipped through the fingers of law enforcement.

The interlude had given Goren the opportunity to continue his study of Eames. Consumed by their case in those few days, his experiment had, outwardly, been put on hold. Eames had asked Goren to decipher a couple of notes he had scribbled in the margin of an autopsy report. Goren had settled behind Eames' chair, leaning over her with his arms on either side of her body, palms flat on the table. As he read over her shoulder, he kept his voice quiet next to her ear. Goren had, again, noticed the subtle tensing in Eames' shoulders, but as before, she had not pushed him away.

Goren remembered the night at Givelle's, wanting to tell Ross to return to One PP without them. He had started to consider getting his partner drunk and taking advantage of her in the most affectionate of ways. Now, as Goren pulled on a pair of black boxers and a pair of worn blue jeans, he was curious as to how that event could develop. He never had thoughts of hurting Eames. His fantasies always stood under the assumption that she reciprocated his feelings-

feelings…

infatuation…thoughts…

curiosities, theories, needs,

desires obsession cravings fondness

-whatever name under which this reflection of his could be classified. He really needed to understand what he wanted before he could definitively call it anything.

Goren slipped a light grey t-shirt over his head and pulled a blue and green plaid button-up shirt from his closet. Any ideas he possessed over an inebriated Eames were exhausted as that night stretched on and they were hit by the realization that they wouldn't solve their case. For a few moments, Goren was able to let it go as they chose a bar close to One PP and ordered the drink he had promised Eames. With little conversation and a lot of nursing their beverages, they had called it a night and said their good-byes.

Goren moved to the living room, sitting on the couch and resting his socked feet on the coffee table. He absently ran a hand through the tuff of damp curls on his head. He could picture the entire occurrence in his mind. He pushed Eames back against the door to his apartment, kissing her cold lips with hungry yet delicate movements of his. She clutched the lapels of his coat as his hands moved from her arms and he used his body to hold her in place. He removed the keys from his coat pocket, fumbling as his fingers tried to locate the correct one, his mouth unwilling to relinquish hers.

Once he had the door open, he wrapped an arm around Eames' waist, guiding her into the apartment. He pulled off her hat, briefly halting his kiss to brush her now messy hair from her face. He continued to push her farther into the living room until they reached the couch.

Goren turned, sitting and pulling on Eames until she was settled over his lap, legs on either side of his. He could hear the desperate whimper she made as his arms enclosed her, holding her hips tightly against his.

Closing his eyes, Goren shook his head. He didn't know how Eames felt. Though she had not told Goren to stop, she had also not given him a clear go-ahead. The night he'd tried to kiss Eames was a perfect example of how much he hadn't yet figured out. He'd been so close to her, so close to kissing her. And, at least from Goren's point of view, she seemed willing to let him.

Goren had started by eliminating the space between their bodies as he'd done many times before. Since they were in the privacy of Goren's apartment, he expected Eames to pause his advances, though he did not believe she would stop him completely. He was correct in his conjecture. Even as he touched her cheek, leaned in to brush his lips across hers, she hadn't forced him away. This was Eames, he figured, and she would have made it very clear the second Goren closed in on her that she wanted no part of whatever he was up to. If Declan had not chosen that moment to show at the apartment, Goren was fairly confident he could've kissed his partner.

A soft knock at the door pulled Goren from his ruminations. Rising from the couch, he opened the door, greeting Eames with a nod.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said as he took a case of beer from her arms. "Dad was being difficult." Goren laughed softly as he closed the door behind her. "He either eats and doesn't take his medication, or he takes the medication and doesn't eat." Eames shook her head as she shed her coat and hung it by the door. She followed Goren into the kitchen and set two pizzas on the table. "He simply refuses to do both."

"I've always wondered where you get your stubbornness from," Goren joked. He pulled two cans from the case and slipped the box into the refrigerator.

"Keep it up, Bobby, and I'll take the beer back to my place." Eames turned to Goren. "I've been looking forward to the night off all week. I don't want to be forced to drink alone." Truth told Goren had been just as anxious as Eames to end the day. He'd joked about spending the night well-oiled and relaxed, and Eames agreed that idea was not a bad one. If the lady wanted company while reaching that not-so-sober state, who was he to refuse? Eames crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What?" she asked.

"What?" he repeated.

"You have that look on your face." Goren tried to hide the soft smile twitching across his lips.

"What look?"

"That look," she said, pointing at him. "The look that says you're going to cause some trouble and you're not going to be sorry for doing so." Goren nodded slowly, thoughtfully, turning his back to Eames as he took two paper plates out of the cupboard. When she reached his side, taking the plates from him, he saw the expectant look on her face. "Well? What's up your sleeve?" Goren titled his head to the side. He took the small step separating them, cornering Eames as he placed his hands on the countertop. She looked at him, eyebrow raised as he slid past her.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

**Friday, November 19****th****, 9:47 pm**

**One Block from Goren's Apartment**

"When the hell is she going to leave?" he asked, popping a peanut in his mouth.

"I don't know," his brother sighed. "What was it that Dad always said?"

"No woman ever goes to a guy's house unless she's looking for trouble." He looked up from his small jar of peanuts and stared at the apartment building down the block. "Fucking slut." He shook his head. "I still cannot believe she showed up at Givelle's."

"I know," his brother laughed. The shrill sound of his brother's phone filled the small car. He turned watching as his brother snatched the phone from the dashboard. "Speaking of Givelle's," he mumbled as he checked the caller ID.

"Is Mike still calling you?"

"Yeah. You'd think he could take the hint." His brother tossed the phone back on to the dashboard. "I didn't show up, I'm not coming in to work." He watched as his brother ran a weary hand through his red hair.

"Give the guy a break," he told his brother. "His business is practically going under because of us."

"Maybe if he didn't invite whores into his place of business, he wouldn't have that problem." Both brothers laughed. "It doesn't really matter anyway. We leave for New Mexico on what? Tuesday?"

"Yeah." He shifted in his seat and held his jar of peanuts up to his brother. "Want one?"

"No. You know, it's really too bad that we won't be around to see how the great NYPD reacts to finding one of its own dead."

"That would be quite a show." He glanced at his watch. "Are we grabbing her tonight?"

"If she ever leaves this asshole's department."

**Friday, November 19****th****, 10:24 pm**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

"Bobby, this is the last time I let you pick the movie."

"You didn't like it?" Eames shook her head.

"Do you know how many people that guy killed?"

"Thirty-seven," he answered. Goren realized her question was rhetorical one when she turned and glared at him. "Sorry."

"And the scene where he cuts up the woman in the bathtub…" Eames made a face. "Gross." Goren laughed.

"That was the best part, Eames." Eames set her empty can on the coffee table and sat back into the corner of the couch, drawing her legs next to her body. "That scene was the entire embodiment of the killer's mind. His love, his fascination, his need to kill in exaggerated fashion," he said, his left hand in a rolling gesture. "That's where it all comes together." Eames laughed. Goren never seemed to turn off the part of his mind that liked to profile people, be they real or fictional.

"Whatever you say, Bobby. Whatever you say." Goren noted the slight slur to Eames' words, knowing that she, as he, was really not that close to sober anymore. He knew she was in the feel-good stage, having had enough to relax and let down her guard, but not as much as to make her lips feel numb, a quirky trait she possessed whenever she had too much alcohol. Goren found that trait to be adorable. On a few occasions when Eames was quiet and her tells were not visible, that bit of information allowed Goren to recognize that Eames was no longer capable of driving herself home. He pointed to the empty can on the table.

"Do you need another?" he asked, standing.

"I don't know, Bobby." He raised an eyebrow.

"Are your lips numb?"

"Not yet," she laughed.

"Then you need another," he stated, his tone telling Eames she couldn't argue.

"How well you know me," she said.

"Indeed." Eames handed the can to Goren, who noticed the chill in her fingers as his brushed hers. He turned and headed into the kitchen. "Gruesome or not, my movie still beats the girlie movie you picked last time."

"I apologized for that already. I didn't know it was going to be that bad."

"Read the back of the DVD case next time, Eames." Goren returned to the couch and handed Eames her beer. She removed her hands from between her knees and pulled the sleeves from her fingers before taking the can from him. As he sat down, he took a second to study her, as he'd done several times during the movie. The little voice in his head had come back with a vengeance, urging him to give in to the impulses that so wholly cluttered his mind. Goren watched as Eames pulled at the sleeves of her turtleneck, sliding them once again over her fingers, and then tucked herself further into the cushions of the couch.

"Eames, you are never going to learn, are you?" Setting his beer can on the coffee table, Goren left the room, heading down the hallway. Eames frowned, not understanding his statement. Goren returned with a sweater slung over his shoulder. "Come here." He removed the can from Eames' hand, placing it on the table beside his, and pulled her from the couch. Goren slipped the sweater over Eames' head, holding the hem as she tentatively pushed her arms through the sleeves. Eames lifted her hands to adjust he cuffs but Goren grabbed her wrists and gently returned her arms to her sides.

"Bobby?" she questioned quietly.

"Hmm?" Her lips parted but no words came out. Goren reached up and softly removed her hair from inside the sweater's collar. He let his fingers float over the skin along the back of Eames' neck. Though not in the right location for fulfilling the sweater fantasy he'd concocted months earlier, Goren decided making it up along the way would suffice. He would still have to be careful in how he proceeded, knowing he'd have one hell of a let-down, not to mention the possibility of a few physical injuries, if he was in anyway incorrect about his assumptions. "You know," he started as he took hold of one cuff. "You should leave one of your sweaters here." He slipped his hand inside the sleeve, fingers searching for hers. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about being caught in mine." He found her wrist, pulling her hand from the cuff.

"I didn't ask for your sweater," she said slowly as Goren released her other hand from the confines of the sleeve. "I was all right."

"Mm-hmm." Goren stepped closer. "Huddled in the corner of the couch. You weren't all right, you were cold."

"I was fine," she laughed. "It's just a case of the creeps from that stupid movie."

"This again?" he joked. Grabbing her hands, he pulled her to the middle of the living room. "Two perfect strangers meet on the streets of Manhattan and fall wonderfully in love." Goren dramatically placed his hands over his heart, making Eames laugh. He reached out and touched her arm as he continued. "But, but they are not sure that it's really love, so they dance." He lifted Eames' hand above her head, spinning her under his arm and drawing her close as they danced. "And all is good with the world. And that's…that's great for them, don't get me wrong…" He laughed along with Eames.

"But?" she prompted, stepping out of his arms. Goren noticed their movements put Eames a few steps from the wall. He carefully dropped his smile and stepped towards her.

"But…there was no conflict, Eames." She took a step back, her smiling fading at the sudden seriousness on Goren's face. "There was no…chase." Another step. "There was no…_tension_." Another step. "There was…was no fun." Her back hit the wall with a soft thud. Goren placed his forearms on the wall, banishing any attempt on Eames' part to break away.

"All right, I get it. It was…was a bad movie." Goren leaned closer to Eames, his lips precariously close to hers.

"No, Eames. It was a _horrible _movie," he whispered. Eames smiled.

"Bobby, I'm sorry that he didn't pull out a knife and stab her." She poked Goren's side, causing him to retreat a step. He kept his hands against the wall and titled his head, challenging Eames to make the move again. "Would that have been better? If he killed her?" Her fingers found his other side and he dropped his hands.

"In the midst of falling in love, he wraps his fingers around her neck and strangles her? Yes, I think that would have been a much better plot." Eames reached for Goren's neck but he caught her and pulled her into his arms as they laughed.

"Let go, Bobby."

"Uh-uh."

"Come on." She wrestled against him, turning her back to him so she could have better leverage on his arms. Eames knew that even at her full strength she would never free herself from Goren's arms, but she refused to let him win without a decent fight. "Bobby," she laughed. "Let me go."

"Are you even trying, Eames?" he goaded next to her ear. "I could hold you here with one arm. Look." He tightened an arm around her waist and held a hand in the air. "See?"

"That's not fair," she said, pushing harder against his arm. Goren pulled her back towards the couch. He sat and yanked Eames down next to him. Keeping his arm around her, Goren reached forward and grabbed Eames' can from the table.

"Here, finish this."


	7. Chapter 7

**a/n: **spoilers for blind spot

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Seven**

**Friday, November 19****th****, 10:31 pm**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

"Here, finish this." Keeping his arm around Eames, Goren reached forward and grabbed her can from the table.

"Detective Goren, are you trying to get your partner drunk?" Goren studied Eames as a slow, sly smile spread across his face.

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, briefly tightening his arm around her.

"No, I suppose not." Goren waited for Eames to finish her long sip of beer before reaching for his can. As he sat back into the corner of the couch, Eames shifted further into Goren's arms.

"Keep in mind, this _was_ your idea," Goren said, tipping the can to his mouth.

"_My_ idea?" Eames looked at Goren. "You were the one who suggested the drinking."

"True," he nodded. "I suggested, but you agreed. We could've done anything else, Eames."

"Yes, well, don't give me beer money next time," she shrugged. "Far be it for me to turn down a free drink."

"Again, how well I know you," Goren snickered.

"Hey, wait a minute." Eames put her can on the table and slipped from Goren's hold, perching on the edge of the couch as she turned to face him head on. "You _are_ trying to get me drunk."

"I thought you said that wasn't a bad thing."

"That was when I thought you were joking." Eames eyed Goren skeptically. "Now I'm questioning your intentions."

"My intentions, huh?" Goren finished his beer. "What exactly are you thinking, Eames?" With a smile and exaggerated movement, Eames pushed back to the middle of the couch as Goren set his empty beer can next to hers.

"I don't know. I'm not as good at reading you as you are at reading me."

"I don't read you."

"Oh, please. Yes, you do," Eames laughed. "You can't help it."

"Guilty." He pouted a small smile. "Forgive me?"

"Nope," Eames snickered. Goren opened his mouth to continue his plea but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Goren looked at the door and then turned to Eames.

"I'll give you one guess as to who it is." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Just answer it," Eames said with a roll of her eyes. "He won't go away until you do." Goren nodded and rose from the couch. Opening the door, he dropped his head and offered his greeting.

"Declan."

"Bobby." Declan crossed his arms over his chest as he looked past Goren. "And the lovely Detective Eames," he said disapprovingly. "Still schmoozing your partner, Bobby?" Goren sighed and motioned Declan into the apartment. "I came to say good-bye before catching my flight home." He turned to Eames. "I just ended a visit with Jo. She says 'hello'."

"Save it, Declan," Goren cautioned.

"I'm sorry." Declan bowed slightly as he offered his half-assed apology. "Bobby, I'm disappointed," the older man whined. "There's been no collar. Where's your killer?"

"Declan," Goren groaned. "I'm not sharing any of the details with you. You know better than to ask that." He considered Declan for a moment. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"Well, clearly I interrupted something that last time I came to see you." Declan pursed his lips. "I thought we could talk for a few minutes before I left town. But, I can see you don't have time to speak with your mentor now, either." Eames pushed herself off the couch.

"Why don't I just go into the other room and let the two of you talk."

"What a great idea," Declan smiled. Eames bit her tongue, resisting the urge to spew a few curse words, as she slipped into the hallway. "Why is she here, Bobby?" Declan asked emphatically.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does!" Declan spat. "You are in the middle of a very rough case. Distracting yourself with your partner…" He waved his hands through the air with disbelief. "How, Bobby, how does this keep your head in the game? I thought I taught you better than this." Goren offered a very frustrated sigh.

"_We_, Declan," he reminded his mentor. "And I'm pretty sure I already told you that she is not distracting me."

"I didn't say she was. You're doing it all to yourself." Declan sat on the couch, crossing his legs with an ankle over his knee. "You don't see it, do you?" he asked, sitting back. "Remember when Eames was found after, after the kidnapping? Do you remember the nights you spent with her in the hospital? Hmm?"

"Yes," Goren answered, not sure where Declan was taking the discussion.

"Bobby, if you could have seen yourself," Declan said, raising an eyebrow. "You care deeply for her."

"She's my partner, my friend," Goren upheld. "Of course I care for her."

"No, no." Declan waved a dismissive hand at Goren. "You have feelings for her." He stood and moved in front of Goren, shaking his head. "You have always liked your women, Bobby. Eames is a good looking woman. She's smart, she's strong. But she's not…" Declan poked a stern finger into Goren's chest. "You can't involve yourself with thoughts of her, Bobby."

"I don't think it's any of your business who occupies my thoughts, Declan."

"It certainly is my business if you can't control yourself. You have a brilliant career, Bobby. Don't blow it." Goren simply stared at Declan for a moment, wondering how he could politely end this line of questioning.

"You should go…before you miss your flight."

"Oh, Bobby." Declan's face saddened. "Maybe you're too far gone already." He walked away from Goren, rubbing a hand over his greying goatee. "Have you kissed her?"

"What?" Goren laughed.

"Have you kissed her?" Declan repeated, punctuating each word as he returned to stand in front of Goren.

"N-no, of course not." Declan nodded.

"I don't believe you. After all, you two were pretty chummy the other night when I stopped by." Goren carefully grabbed Declan's arm and ushered him towards the door.

"It's time for you to go, Declan." Goren opened the door. "Have a good flight."

"Bobby, come on. It's me, huh?" Declan placed a hand over his chest. "I care, Bobby. I don't want to see you get hurt over something so…so trivial."

"Trivial," Goren mumbled. "Good-bye, Declan."

"Bobby…" Declan shook his head. "Fine, I'll go. Just don't…just don't." Goren watched as Declan wandered down the snow covered sidewalk and hopped into a silver rental car. As Declan drove away, Goren sensed quiet movement behind him.

"Close the door, Bobby. It's cold outside." Smiling softly, Goren closed the door and turned to his partner. "What did he want?"

"He's pushing buttons, that's all." Eames nodded slowly and returned to her spot on the couch, Goren almost certain he caught a smirk flit across her face. "How much of all of that did you hear, Eames?"

"Why does he think I'm distracting you?" Goren tilted his head to the side.

"He, uh…The other night when he was here…" he attempted to explain.

"When you tried to kiss me?"

"Yeah," he answered, raising an eyebrow. "He thinks that was more than what it was." He joined Eames on the couch, and repeated his question. "How much, Eames?" he prodded with good humor.

"What, exactly, was it, Bobby?" she asked.

"Quit changing the subject and answer my question."

"Answer mine." Goren shook his head.

"I asked you first." Eames took a breath, unable to hold back her smile.

"Not much, just that I'm a distraction." Eames smile faded. "I didn't want to listen to him after his comment about Jo." Goren moved closer to Eames, resting his hand on the back of her neck.

"Look at me." He waited until Eames did as told. "Don't let him get to you. He's so wrapped up in his own mind, he doesn't understand." Eames nodded and Goren gently squeezed her shoulder. "We're supposed to be relaxing and, you know, getting you drunk." Eames laughed and gently tapped a finger over her mouth, lips tingling under the touch.

"Mission accomplished," she said. Goren laid back against the couch, pulling Eames with him.

"Good."

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 8:14 am**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

Goren rolled his shoulders, stretching his back and his neck as he stood over the stove, gently stirring a pan of scrambled eggs. His proposal of getting his partner drunk had not gone entirely as planned due to Declan's late-night interruption. It should not have surprised Goren to hear Declan say something to rub Eames the wrong way. In the year since Eames' kidnapping, Declan had displayed his contempt for her several times. He understood why his partner didn't care for his mentor, but he could not wrap his head around the opposite. Declan's contact with Eames had been limited; he didn't know her well enough to have such a harsh opinion. It was, however, what it was and Goren knew better than to push the issue with either party.

The night ended quietly, Goren having found a program on the Discovery Channel about space. Eames teased him about his viewing choices, but settled in comfortably when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Goren had succeeded in intoxicating Eames, a willing participant to that portion of the evening, but he did not have the opportunity to provoke her as he had schemed. After Declan's visit, Goren focused on keeping Eames' mind from wandering back to her kidnapping. When she had fallen asleep, he carefully lifted her from the couch, moving her to the bedroom.

Goren had taken up residence on the couch as he revisited the moment he had Eames against the wall. He knew that she had not consumed enough alcohol to inhibit her judgment, and he was encouraged by how she played along. He wanted Eames to be caught in the moment physically and emotionally. He wanted…needed the first time he would kiss her to be one of completely captured attention. Goren had drifted off with that warm thought in his mind.

Reaching into the cupboard, Goren pulled out two plates and two coffee mugs. Eames certainly had captured _his_ attention, but Goren disagreed with Declan's belief that it was affecting his job performance. The night at Givelle's disproved that theory. Though Goren had been concocting a frivolous fantasy in his head, he was still able to keep an eye on Eames and the handful of customers at the restaurant. He paid attention to everyone who walked within ten feet of Eames' position, waiting for the offender to show. He even watched the red-haired bartender as he'd served Eames the drink Goren had ordered in salvation. The only time Goren was unconnected from the goings-on was the ten-minute lead he and Ross had given Eames before entering Givelle's themselves.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," Goren responded as he scooped the eggs onto the plates. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," Eames answered, running a hand through her wet hair. "Did you?" Goren turned and offered a plate to Eames. "You have to stop letting me sleep in your bed." She set the plate on the table and filled the coffee mugs.

"It's fine. My couch is comfy." Goren sat opposite Eames at the kitchen table. "Eames? When we went to Givelle's last week…Did the bartender say anything to you before Ross and I came in?" Eames shook her head slowly.

"No. He asked what I wanted to drink, but that was it." Goren nodded and took a bite of his eggs. "Why?"

"No reason…I guess." Eames waited patiently for Goren's mind to have a stronger hold of his thought. "He came over to you three times," he started. "Three times in an hour and a half. Once to take your order, once to give you the drink."

"And once to give me the drink you ordered for me," she said, taking a sip of coffee.

"He talked to the other people at the bar, to me and Ross more than he talked to you. Asked how we were doing…if we needed refills."

"I could have used a refill before the mortgage guy," Eames scoffed.

"He was watching you," Goren said absently.

"The mortgage guy?"

"The bartender." Goren set his fork and the table and leaned on his elbows. "When I ordered your drink, he told me you'd been watching me all night."

"He was watching me," Eames repeated, understanding what Goren was implying.

"There were…seven other women around the bar. I said, asked 'what is she drinking?'. He didn't look at you but he knew I was talking about you."

"Do you think he made us? Knew we were watching?"

"I don't know."

"I'll call Ross."

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 8:49 am**

**En Route To Suspect's Apartment**

"Yes, Sir. Goren's sending you the address right now." Eames switched her phone to her left hand, using her right to maneuver the SUV around the corner. "We're about twenty-five minutes out." She stopped for a red light and turned to Goren. "Understood." Eames ended the call. "Ross is on his way with a team. We're not to go in until he's there." Goren nodded.

"What?" he asked hearing Eames laugh.

"You're practically jumping out of your skin right now, Bobby. Am I going to have to circle the block to keep you in the vehicle?"

"Maybe," Goren smiled. "This could be it, Eames. I'm excited." Eames shook her head, stepping lightly on the gas pedal when the light turned green.

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 9:17 am**

**Apartment of Randy McAllister**

"I still don't understand why you need me to get you into the apartment." Goren watched the overweight landlord sift through a very full ring of keys. "Did you try knocking?"

"We did," Goren nodded. He leaned over the landlord's shoulder. "It didn't work," he whispered.

"What did Randy do to, uh, deserve all of this attention?" he asked, motioning to several armed officers behind them.

"Unpaid parking tickets," Eames answered. "Open the door." The landlord singled out a key, holding in the air for Eames to see.

"What the lady wants, the lady gets." With a soft click, the door was opened, two officers dragging the landlord back down the hallway.

"Can you smell that?" Goren asked as he entered the apartment with Eames and Ross.

"Bleach," she said, nodding. "I think we have ourselves a crime scene."

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 9:17 am**

**Outside Randy McAllister's Apartment Building**

"I can't go in there, Terry. They'll recognize me."

"You and your damned red hair, Randy." He laughed and turned to his brother.

"You know what to do, right?" Terry nodded. "Great. I'll see you out back."

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 9:23 am**

**Apartment of Randy McAllister**

Eames watched Goren pace the length of the living room as they waited for the forensics team to photograph the bloodied bedrooms and bathroom. An old, battered photo album in hand, Goren carefully paged through, studying each picture as his latex-covered fingers ghosted over them.

"Eames?" Goren sat on the couch and motioned her over. "Look at this." He held the album between them and pointed to a picture. "The, uh, the brothers and their…father." Goren turned the page, pointing to another picture, this one of the three and a woman whose face had been scratched out by a black pen. Goren flipped through three more pages, showing Eames one more photo. "It's torn," he said, his finger tracing a path down the photos edge.

"Someone cut Mom out of the picture."

"There are more. Every picture in here has Mom torn out or scribbled over."

"We figured there was anger directed towards their mother, but…" Eames shook her head. "It's like they removed her completely from their lives." Goren nodded and stood.

"These pictures," he said, pointing to seven frames hanging on the wall above the couch. "Mom's not in these, either."

"All right, the forensics team is finished with the first bedroom," Ross said as he entered the living room. "You're free to have a look around. It's not pretty." Goren and Eames exchanged a look before following Ross into the small bedroom. Goren moved carefully through the room, mindful of the blood stains on the carpet.

"More pictures of Dad," he said, motioning towards a collection of frames on the dresser. Eames followed Goren through the room, scrunching her nose at the stale, coppery smell of blood.

"How could they live like this?" Eames asked, peering into a hamper full of bloody sheets and clothing.

"It was a means to an end, Eames," Goren said.

"They've been murdering for seven years," Ross said, opening the top dresser drawer. "They're probably indifferent to it." Ross closed the drawer and opened the one beneath it. "These are empty. Maybe they did skip town." Goren moved to Ross' side, running a finger across the top of the dresser. "Do you really think this is the time for a white glove test?" he asked.

"It's clean," Goren said, smiling slightly. "Look at the rest of the room. The blood stains on the floor…the bed…the walls," he said, pointing around the room. "There's been no effort to clean anything, except the dresser."

"It's almost like this is a shrine to their father," Eames said in disgust.

"There were two beds in the other room, right?" Goren asked. Ross nodded. "They shared the other room. This is where they committed the murders."

"And this shrine?" Ross asked.

"A sick testament to the way they were raised," Eames supplied. "The murders were a way to honor their father."

"Honor thy father," Goren mumbled. "Or avenge his death."

-(*)-

"That was way too damned easy," Terry said, slipping on the officer's coat.

"What did you tell him?" Randy asked, staring down at the officer, now unconscious and dressed solely in a white t-shirt and red boxers.

"I said my wife slipped on some ice." He tucked his shirt into the pants he'd taken from the officer, tightening the belt past the last loop, and buttoned the coat. "How do I look?" he asked, topping his head with the officer's hat.

"Like an idiot." Randy patted his brother on the back. "Hurry up and get her, will ya? It's too cold to wait out here."

-(*)-

"Well, their housekeeping skills are better in this room than the other bedroom." Eames moved to a small metal desk and opened the side drawer. "Pictures," she said, frowning as she filtered through them. She handed the bottom half of the stack to Goren as he stepped to her side. "These are our victims," she said. "At work, at home." She held one up for Goren to see. "Out with friends." Goren nodded, returning to his own pile.

"Detectives?" Eames turned towards the officer at the door. "There's something out back I think you should see."

"I'll go," she said. Ross took Eames' place at Goren's side, picking up the stack of pictures she had been looking at. He stared at the bedroom's door, his uneasiness growing.

"Goren? Did you see the officer Eames is with?" Goren turned to Ross.

"No, I, uh, was looking at these." He turned back to the photos. "Who was he?"

"I didn't recognize him," Ross answered, shaking his head.

"Captain?" Goren dropped the pictures on the desk, handing one to Ross. His eyes grew wide as he realized the woman in the photo was Eames.

-(*)-

"What brought you out this way?" Eames asked as the officer held open the emergency exit door.

"Just a hunch that you'll find what you're looking for back here." Eames walked through the doorway, her attention snared by the body to her right.

"Who is…" A hand closed tightly around Eames throat, pulling her backwards and slamming her forcefully into the building's brick wall.

"Shut up, Bitch." Randy punched his fist into Eames' side, Terry snatching her firearm as she doubled over. "Let's go." He roughly grabbed Eames' arms, yanking her down the back alley. She tripped several times, unable to move as she struggled to catch her breath. She vaguely heard the door crash into the wall and the familiar voices hollering behind her.

"NYPD! Freeze!" The brothers stopped and turned. Goren, Ross and several officers were splayed across the alley, firearms drawn and trained on the pair. "Let her go!" Goren yelled.

"Not a chance!" Terry yelled back. He reached for Eames, pulling her to him with a strong arm wrapped around her neck. He pointed the gun at her head as Eames clamped her hands around his arm, yanking hard to free herself.

"Terry," Randy hissed. "Dump her and let's run."

"No, not this time." He shifted Eames, using her as a shield.

"Come on, let her go," Goren started, taking a step forward. "She doesn't need to be a part of this."

"Shoot, Bobby," Eames choked.

"Shut up!" Terry screamed, pressing the barrel's opening harder against her temple. Ross stepped to Goren's left, his firearm targeting Randy.

"On the ground," Ross ordered. Randy looked between Ross and his brother.

"Come on, Terry. Let her go."

"I said on the ground!" Ross repeated. Randy reluctantly dropped to his knees and flattened himself on the snow-covered pavement.

"Your turn," Goren said. "Let her go and join your brother on the ground."

"No, no, no." Terry shook his head.

"Bobby, shoot." Goren stared at the man over Eames' shoulders, refusing to acknowledge her request until absolutely necessary.

"Yeah, Bobby, shoot," he mocked.

"Terry, what the hell are you doing?" Randy yelled.

"One last one, huh, Randy? One more for Dad."

"No, Terry, not like this." Terry disregarded his brother's comment, taunting Goren once more.

"Are you gonna do it? Who has the quickest trigger finger, _Bobby_?" Terry laughed. "On the count of three. One…Two…" Goren met Eames' eyes, a thousand words of understanding and trust passing between them in the briefest of moments. "Three."


	8. Chapter 8

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Eight**

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 9:47 am**

**Apartment Building of Randy McAllister**

The bullet left the gun's barrel in a steadily-expanding brilliant flash of blue and yellow light as time was reduced to a bizarre display of slow motion. Goren's eyes took in every movement around him. Two officers behind Ross holstered their firearms and ran past the captain, descending on the rising form of Randy McAllister. Three other officers flanked Goren, their guns aimed at the second brother.

Eames turned her head away from her captor, removing her hands from his arm and reaching to the side as they fell to the ground. Eames rolled onto her stomach as Terry landed almost completely on top of her. Goren straightened, returning his gun to its place on his hip, the distorted sounds around him screeching as they changed from their drawn-out low tones to normal paced pitches.

"Terry? Terry! No!" Goren watched as officers pulled Randy, hands cuffed securely behind his back, to his feet. "Terry, no! You bitch!" he screamed as he was dragged back into the building. "You killed my brother, Bitch!" Ross joined Goren's side as the other officers secured Terry's gun and rolled his body off of Eames.

"I'm assuming you're not the bitch," Ross said.

"No," Goren replied, his attention focusing on his partner. "Eames is." Eames pushed herself to her hands and knees, slinking a pace backwards.

"I heard that," she mumbled.

"Are you hurt?" Goren asked, kneeling next to her.

"Just my ego," she answered. Eames sat back on her legs, Goren brushing her messy, snow-covered hair from her face. Eames took in a stiff breath and winced. "All right. And my side." Goren helped steady Eames as she gingerly rose to her feet. "Sucker punched," she said, answering Goren's silent question.

"We should get you to the hospital."

"No, Bobby, I'm fine," she said, gently rubbing her side.

"Eames." Ross moved to his detectives.

"Captain, I'm fine." Eames set her face, Ross knowing not to argue. "We need to finish looking at the apartment anyway." She pushed between Goren and Ross, heading back into the building. Goren shook his head.

"What the lady wants," he shrugged.

**Saturday, November 20****th****, 12:14 pm**

**Major Case Squad Room – Interrogation Room**

"All right," Rodgers started as she entered the interrogation room. "Preliminary DNA results are in." She politely moved past Captain Ross and ADA Carver and handed the report to Eames. "Terry McAllister is a match to the samples we've collected and to the samples from the other precincts."

"Great. The dead brother," Ross mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"We're waiting for final results to match the blood in the apartment to the victims."

"Do we have any physical evidence to connect Randy McAllister to the murders?" Carver asked.

"The only finger prints found in room were Terry's," Eames said, shaking her head.

"The forensics team found a baseball bat and a kitchen knife under the bed, full of blood but no prints," Rodgers added. "There are no other blood or semen samples."

"I don't think living in the same apartment as his brother is going to be enough for a murder conviction. Accessory maybe." Goren studied the assistant district attorney. He knew Carver was right. Without finger prints or DNA they couldn't prove Randy McAllister had a hand in the killings beyond knowledge of the occurrences. Goren wanted to see the man punished for the horrible things he did to all of those women.

"We need a confession," Goren said, absently crossing his arms in front of his chest and turning towards Eames. She knew from the expression on Goren's face that he wasn't really looking at her, rather, grinding the gears in his head, formulating his game plan for the interrogation. She held back a smile as Goren's hand moved to his mouth, his thumb gently brushing against his lips.

"Even if Mr. McAllister gives a full confession…" Carver frowned and shook his head. "It's going to appear as though he's confessing for his brother's actions, not his own."

"The details of the murders…the rape…the beatings," Eames started, still focused on Goren. "They were never released to the public." Goren pulled himself from his meditations and fully met Eames' eyes.

"Then I need to hear exactly which details _this_ Mr. McAllister is responsible for," Carver said. Goren turned to the attorney.

"You will," he assured. Carver nodded and followed Rodgers and Ross into the hallway. Goren watched Eames as she moved to the far side of the table. He collected his binder, folding his arms around it and pulling it close to his chest.

"Eames?" Goren rounded the table as Eames added the DNA results to a small stack of papers in a folder. "Do you still have the blue contacts?"

"Uh, yeah. They're in my desk."

"You should, uh, get them. Put them in." Eames studied her partner for a moment before heading towards the door.

"Always the bait, Goren," she snarked, stepping into the hallway. Goren smiled and started rifling through the papers Eames had just tidied. He flipped over the first two pages and pulled the third from the stack. Though he had read the report several times since its appearance on Eames' desk just an hour earlier, he carefully took in every word again. "Oh, for crying out loud, Bobby." Eames snatched the paper from Goren's hand and playfully pushed him aside, restacking the papers. "Just can't leave it alone, can you?"

"Sorry." He took a slow breath. "Eames, this interrogation…It might be…difficult," he said delicately.

"I know." Eames closed the folder and looked up at Goren.

"He's so full of…of rage. We might need to…push his buttons to get this confession." He titled his head to the side, taking a seat on the edge of the table to even their eyes. "I don't…I don't want you to be angry with me."

"Angry?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why would—"

"Detectives?" The pair turned towards the door, Officer Miller escorting Randy McAllister through its opening. Goren turned back to Eames, softly touching her elbow.

"Just be ready for it." He slipped off the table, motioning towards the side of the table that accommodated a sole chair. "Can you take…take off the cuffs?" Miller nodded and did as requested. Eames raised an eyebrow and although Goren was not directly facing her, it was a reaction that did not go unnoticed. Miller left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "Have a seat," Goren said, as he and Eames sat across from McAllister. "Let's talk."

"I have nothing to say to you," McAllister said, sitting heavily in the chair.

"I think," Goren started, shaking a finger at McAllister. "I think you do." Goren folded his fingers and leaned his elbows on the table. "Do you have a, uh, a lawyer, Randy?"

"I don't need a lawyer."

"Waiving your right to counsel, huh?" Eames asked.

"I don't need a lawyer," he repeated. "I don't have anything to say." McAllister leaned forward. "Especially to you, Bitch."

"Okay…okay." Goren pulled a piece of paper from his binder. "You were quite the troublemaker as a youngster, weren't you?" He slid the report across the table. McAllister sat back in his chair, never glancing at the paper.

"Three separate instances of arson," Eames started.

"I was never convicted. Couldn't prove it was me."

"Petty theft, vandalism…You were even accused of torturing and killing your neighbor's dog," she continued.

"Again, never convicted. Who knows what happened to that damned mutt." He leaned forward in his chair, laying his hands across the cold surface of the table. "Why is she here?" he asked.

"She's my partner," Goren responded.

"Partner," McAllister sneered. "You don't need her. She'll only distract you," he mumbled, sitting back in his chair. Goren studied the man before him for a moment, truly surprised and taken aback by those words, echoes of Declan's assertion; though Declan's expressions didn't hold the same chill as McAllister's. Goren sensed movement in the chair beside him, feeling uneasiness from his partner as he knew she, too, made the connection.

"When…when all of these things happened…" Goren tapped the sheet in front of McAllister. "What did your father have to say about this?"

"Nothing to me," he shrugged. "He yelled at my mother, hit her usually. He said it was her fault; that she didn't do a very good job of teaching us right from wrong."

"Your father…He was abusive towards you mother." Goren folded his hands under his chin. "Did he ever…hit you or, or your brother?"

"No," McAllister scoffed. "He never laid a hand on us."

"Did he discipline you at all?" Eames chided. "You know, yell at you? Put you in a time out?" McAllister rolled his head to the side, an eerie smile creeping across his face as he looked at Eames.

"Nope," he said slowly. Goren remained silent, watching the hate fester in McAllister's eyes as he stared down Eames.

"That's too bad," she continued, ignoring his glare. "You probably could have used a good crack across the ass." McAllister sat straight and opened his mouth, Goren interjecting before the words could be released.

"Your mom had an affair, right?" he blurted. "Did that happen before or, or after the abuse started?"

"My mother's affair killed my father. She got exactly what she deserved." McAllister directed a sneer in Eames' direction.

"You didn't answer my question," Goren said, shaking his head. "Before?" he asked, leaning his right elbow on the table, hand palm up. "Or after?" His left hand mimicked the position of his right.

"My father tried to teach her those lessons. She chose not to listen."

"Okay…so after." Goren dropped his right arm and lifted his left a little higher in the air. "You said the affair killed your father."

"He was so angry. He had a heart attack three weeks after he found out about it." McAllister looked down, tears forming on the corners of his eyes. "He died on the way to the hospital."

"You were with him when…your father when he died?" Goren asked quietly, his voice conveying sympathy.

"Yeah. Terry was, too." McAllister took a deep breath.

"Where was your mother when it happened?" he asked.

"Dead. Two weeks before Dad's heart attack, my mother fell down the basement steps. Smashed her head on the concrete floor." McAllister's voice drifted off, his eyes taking on a distant look as he relived the memory. "I hated my mother for doing that to him. He took care of us, provided a-a home and food." He wiped the tears from his eyes. "I went to my mom's hospital room. I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck." The hate in McAllister's eyes jumped another notch as he raised his hands, slowly bringing his fingers together in a squeezing motion. "But she wasn't there." He dropped his hands in his lap. "She died three days earlier." Goren noticed the lack of emotion McAllister held for his mother's passing.

"You didn't know?"

"The nurse said my father had been notified, but he never told us." McAllister ran a hand through his hair. "It didn't matter anyway. After my mother went to the hospital, Dad said we were all better off without whores like her in our lives." Goren sat back in his chair and looked at Eames, her eyes giving silent approval for a proposal she knew he wasn't quite ready to share with her.

"Randy, would you like something to drink?" Goren offered. McAllister nodded. "Would you mind bringing a couple glasses of water?" he asked Eames.

"Of course not," she answered, leaving the room. As the door closed behind Eames, McAllister sniffled and looked at Goren.

"Whores? That's what you think about your mother?" Goren prodded.

"That's what she was!" he burst. "Just like your partner. No woman ever goes to a guy's house unless she's looking for trouble." McAllister leaned forward on the table, meeting Goren's eyes with an uncanny seriousness. "She's a pain in the ass, isn't she?"

"Sometimes, yeah," Goren said carefully. "It's taking time to…break her in."

"You need to keep her in line." Goren sat forward, duplicating McAllister's position.

"The abuse was, uh, a taste…of what would happen if your mother wasn't faithful to your father, right? If she didn't obey him? That was the…the lesson. That was how he kept her line." He rubbed the back of his thumb across his bottom lip. "But it wasn't enough, was it?"

On the other side of the one-way glass, Eames stood between Ross and Carver, arms crossed, watching her partner, listening intently to McAllister's answers.

"You knew about the mother," Ross said quietly. Eames nodded. "What's the story?"

"She was taken to the emergency room after a neighbor found her at the bottom of the basement stairs. She was unresponsive at the scene and never regained consciousness." Eames looked at Ross. "The doctor and the medical examiner stated that the injuries to her head were too significant to have been caused by the fall." Eames turned back to the glass. "The father was brought in for questioning but he had an alibi. He was at a local bar with some friends."

"Any chance one of the brothers was responsible?"

"The police reports say the brothers were both in school, but their whereabouts were never confirmed," Eames answered, shaking her head.

"Convenient," Ross said. The three returned their attention to McAllister's responses, plagued with filth about his mother. Eames watched as Goren nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair. He pulled her chair next to his and rested his right arm across the back.

"That's my cue," Eames announced, grabbing two full Styrofoam cups from the table behind Ross. With a smile she left the room.

"What, exactly, are they doing?" Carver asked. Ross slipped his hands into his pants pockets and simply smiled.

"They're closing in for the kill."

"Well," Carver started, folding his arms across his chest. "This should be interesting." They watched through the glass as Eames entered the interrogation room, using her back to open the door, and set the cups on the table in front of Goren and McAllister. Eames settled into her chair, turning to Goren when he gently wacked her shoulder.

"What the hell took you so long?" he asked quietly.

"Ross stopped me," she answered.

"Why?"

"It's none of your business," she said.

"It's always my business." Goren glanced at McAllister then leaned closer to Eames. "We'll talk about this later," Goren said, voice quiet. He turned back to McAllister. "You were saying…" he said, making a rolling gesture with his hand.

"Whatever." McAllister watched Eames carefully as he spoke to Goren. "My mother deserved to die for killing my father. I wish I would have been able to tell her that to her face. Make her feel the pain she caused us."

"Is that why you killed these women?" Goren pulled six pictures from his binder and set them one by one in front of McAllister. "Was this your chance to get your revenge?"

"I didn't kill anyone."

"No, see, we think differently," Eames started, shifting to the front of her chair as her finger skirted the air above the pictures. "I bet your DNA is all over these bodies." Goren shot Eames a callous scowl, taking her elbow and pulling her back.

"Seriously?" he asked, again keeping his voice low. "You know we don't have DNA evidence."

"He murdered a bunch of people, Bobby," Eames played. "What's the harm in lying a little to get a confession?" she shushed back in a whisper.

"You can't threaten him with nothing." Eames opened her mouth to argue but Goren cut her off with a gentle finger over her lips. From the corner of her eye, Eames saw McAllister tense, everything coming together with that movement. Goren's voice resonated through her mind. _"We might need to push his buttons…I don't want you to be angry with me."_ She now knew how Goren was going to steer McAllister into confessing. Allowing her acceptance of Goren's plan to show on her face, she waited for him to continue.

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut and save your energy for what you're good at." He leaned forward and kissed her softly, his fingers grazing her cheek.

"Hey, hey! Don't do that," McAllister hissed. "She'll hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Goren laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You wouldn't hurt me." His eyes locked with Eames' as he roughly hooked a finger under her chin. "Would you?" he asked, eyebrows raised. Eames jerked away from his hand.

"No." Goren smiled and continued his questioning.

"So…You wanted revenge," he said, again leaning on his elbows. "Your mother caused your father's death and you wanted to punish her for that." Goren tapped at the pictures of the victims. "Is that why you killed these women?"

"W-wait. You don't believe her, do you? What about that-that Ross guy? She has no right to tell you it's none of your business," McAllister said, pointing a finger at Eames.

"Well," Goren said, looking at his partner. "He is…He is our captain." He shrugged and pushed the pictures closer to McAllister. "These women, Randy…Tell me about them."

"There's nothing to tell! Whores, all of them," he said resentfully, again scowling at Eames.

"Is that why you killed them?" Goren asked again.

"I didn't kill anyone! Terry killed-Wha-but…" McAllister wiped his hand across the table, sending the picture and both cups of water to the floor. "What about me? What about my brother?"

"I don't understand."

"Your partner put herself out there to catch us." His face turned dark as he leaned across the table. "She tried to lure us in. She was willing…" McAllister slowly licked his lips. "One touch…That's all it takes. And then they stray." Goren nodded thoughtfully, slowly rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin.

"One touch. Is that how you gained the attention of these women?"

"It was so…They were all eager, all ready to get close to someone they didn't know. Whores." McAllister tapped the table. "She'll hurt you if you don't take care of her first. If it's so easy for her to allow that from someone she thinks is a murderer…Who else is she sleeping with?"

"You, uh, you bring up a good point." Goren stood abruptly, his chair crashing to the floor. Eames stood, too, backing slowly to the wall as Goren shadowed her. "Who else?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "Do you want out? Hmm? Is that it?"

"No, I…No." Eames pressed her back against the wall.

"You can't have out. You, Alexandra, belong to me." His hands lay flat on the wall on either side of her shoulders, as he bent to level their faces. Eames pushed Goren away.

"I do _not_ belong to _you_." She turned and placed her hand on the door's handle. Goren, bracing a hand on the door, wrapped his free arm around her waist, thoughtful of her injured side, and pulled her back to the table.

"The bitch can't even deny it!" McAllister screeched as he stood.

"Just like your mother, right?"

"Like my mother." The words left McAllister's mouth with a strong bitter taste.

"Let me go!" she screamed, slapping Goren's face. Goren laughed and grabbed Eames' wrist.

"See?" McAllister let out a frustrated groan. "She needs to know her place."

"How should I…put her in her place? Choke her?" Goren turned Eames in his arms so she was facing McAllister. Gently, his fingers took their place around her throat.

"No, no," McAllister said slowly, smiling at the pained look on Eames face. "You're just like Terry. He never really understood. It's too quick," he explained. "Too nice. You need to hurt her."

"Hurt her…Beat her?"

"Yes," McAllister answered. Goren's hand left Eames' neck, reaching into his pants pocket, pulling out his knife. He flicked out the blade, holding the weapon in front of Eames. She struggled to free herself as Goren tightened his hold around her.

"What about this?" he asked.

"Beat her…stab her…Just _break_ her."

"Did this help to, to teach those women their lessons?" Goren folded the knife and slipped it back into his pocket. He kept his arm around Eames but moved her to his side. "But you didn't get to show all of them, did you?"

"No, I—I don't know what you're talking about," McAllister stammered. "I didn't kill anybody."

"Not in the beginning. Terry did. He strangled those women. He didn't allow you to, to smash their bodies with a bat. Or, or cut them." McAllister pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"I didn't—I told you. Terry didn't understand. He didn't—"

"He didn't allow you to make those women understand the pain. Until Francine." Goren released Eames and leaned both hands on the table. "Francine learned her lesson, didn't she? She felt your pain."

"Yes, she did! They all should have!" McAllister slammed his fists onto the table.

"All of them?" Goren asked. "Margot?"

"Yes!" McAllister screamed, again punching the table.

"Macy? Kelly?" Goren's hand hit the table with every name, keeping McAllister's attention as Eames rounded the table and stood behind their captive.

"Yes! Yes!"

"And Janice and Brittney?" he continued.

"Yes, all of them! They had no right to take my father away from me. No right!"

"Randy McAllister you are under arrest for murder." Eames cuffed McAllister's right hand, pulling sharply as she joined his arms behind his back. Miller entered the room with another officer, the two grabbing McAllister's arms.

"You'll pay for this, Bitch! You'll pay!" Eames joined Goren's side as they watched the officers drag McAllister into the hallway.

"And he still blames you," Goren remarked.

"I wasn't expecting the knife," Eames said, crossing her arms. Goren turned to her and smiled.

"Neither was I." Eames shook her head.

"Detectives." The pair looked to the doorway, revealing Carver and Ross. "Let it never be said that the two of you have a dull interrogation technique," Carver said. With a nod to Ross he left the room. Ross took a moment to scrutinize his detectives. He wondered what he was going to tell Chief Moran about this particular interrogation. He tossed an almost empty roll of paper towels at Goren.

"For the water," he said. "The two of you can head home; do your paperwork on Monday. Good job," he nodded. "Good job."

**a/n **One more chapter to go! Thank you for reading, for reviewing. Just a quick note, for those who have thrown out the question…I don't know why Declan hates Eames so much. I guess (slight spoiler…maybe) with the events of Blind Spot and the way some things were said in Frame…It just makes sense to me that Declan would harbor that type of thinking. John Glover did an excellent job with that character, one you love to hate. I wish he could have been in more episodes…think that might have been fun.


	9. Chapter 9

a/n: I'm very thankful for the reviews y'all sent for the interrogation. I have to admit I was really nervous about posting that. Glad you liked it. Well, here it is: the last chapter. This story was fun to write. Thank you for reading/reviewing! Please enjoy this last bit of convolutedness!

**Law and Order: Criminal Intent**

**The Winter Here's Cold**

**Chapter Nine**

**Saturday, November 20****th**

**Apartment of Robert Goren**

Eames had returned to the interrogation room, cups of water in hand, knowing that Goren would divulge the thoughts in his head when the time was right. She trusted his instincts, though she wasn't always thrilled with how he used them. The moment Goren touched his finger to her lips was almost a moment of telepathic connection. Eames had known instantly that Goren was going to kiss her. She understood the significance of that action, a ploy to unsettle McAllister, an opportunity to get him talking. Eames had remained quiet, giving Goren the time to make the move that would set the ball rolling.

A short, chaste press of Goren's lips against hers had been enough to ignite McAllister. Eames played along, allowing Goren to essentially use her as a prop. When their play was over, the pair of detectives cleaned up the water and the pictures McAllister had so violently tossed to the floor. Eames found the charade replaying in her mind, focusing on the moment Goren kissed her. The exchange had been brief. But it wasn't the kiss that had her attention. It was the way Goren had touched her cheek. It was gentle, hesitant…curious…like Goren. If that was how he touched her during a fabricated moment, she wondered how he would touch her during a real kiss. Feeling a tinge of color sweep up her cheeks, she shook away her thoughts and stood, adding the now dried pictures to Goren's binder.

"How about a drink?" Goren had asked as he stood, dripping paper towels in hand. "A peace offering for, for pulling my knife on you." Eames had accepted with a smile.

"All right. But, just so you know, I'm not apologizing for slapping you," she had teased. The pair then moved to the conference room, packing up everything related to the now closed case.

Near three that afternoon, under darkening skies, Eames followed Goren to his apartment. In the solitude of her car, she let her thoughts roam. This time, McAllister was not in the interrogation room. Ross and Carver were not in the observation room, the officers were not in the hallway. She was alone with Goren. His finger on her lips was meant to capture her attention in a far different way. Eames imagined Goren kissing her softly, as he had done, but letting his lips stay joined to hers. She felt a tingle slip through her body as she wondered how he would deepen the kiss. Her mind answered with Goren's finger lightly pressing against her chin, gently forcing her mouth open as he leaned in taking her over completely.

As if thinking of the kiss wasn't indulgence enough, Eames allowed herself to consider how it would feel to have Goren's arms wrapped around her body. He was animated and impulsive with everyday actions, but Eames had the inkling that Goren knew exactly what to do, and when to do it, when it came to intimate matters. Eames could see Goren circling his arms around her in a very slow, deliberate motion, purposely tormenting her with the softest of touches, turning aggressive at the very last moment when he pulled her in.

Eames had to collect herself, extracting herself from her private fantasies, as she exited her vehicle and walked with Goren to the front door. Once inside the apartment, she laid her coat over the back of the chair and moved to the kitchen to set her purse of the table. Goren grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, heading to the bathroom to pop the cork into the shower curtain. When he returned to the kitchen, he found Eames perched on the kitchen counter, staring at the floor.

"Is the pattern in the linoleum that interesting?" Eames looked up.

"Why do you suppose those women were so quick to trust the brothers?" she asked. Goren pulled two wine glasses from the cupboard and shrugged.

"It's the perfect stranger syndrome, Eames," he said. "There's some attraction to a person who can identify your tells right off the bat." Eames shook her head, not entirely convinced of Goren's theory.

"So the touching…In the security tape…You want me to believe that from just a simple touch a guy can figure out how to hold the interest of a woman he's never met?"

"Well, yeah," Goren turned to Eames and laughed at her disbelieving expression as he handed her a glass. "Any guy that cares enough to pay attention can _absolutely_ figure that out from _just a simple touch_." Eames snickered as Goren did his best imitation of her.

"Are the women of this world that desperate?"

"Eames," he scolded lightly. "Perfect strangers. Attraction to another person involves more than looks, right?"

"Sure," she nodded. "There's mutual likes. A needed to feel appreciated…loved."

"And one can show another those affections through touch."

"Yes," she said slowly. She eyed Goren thoughtfully. "I suppose that could be." Taking a sip of her wine, Eames crossed her legs and leaned back on her left arm. "Well, you may have some experience as far as this goes, but so do I and _I _call bullshit."

"Really?"

"Really. I've kissed a few men in my time, Bobby. None of them figured it out like…" Eames frowned. "Any man who cares enough to pay attention," she repeated.

"There you go," Goren nodded, leaning a hip against the countertop to the right of Eames.

"Oh."

"Yeah. You've been kissing the wrong guys, Eames," he teased, taking a drink from his glass.

"Figures," she joked. Goren licked his lips, the taste of wine lingering over the tip of his tongue. He decided no other moment before him would be as perfect as the one now presented. Goren took another sip and, turning slightly, set his glass towards the back of the countertop.

"Here," he started, taking Eames' glass. "Let me show you." After setting her glass beside his, he repositioned himself, staying to Eames' right side, but looking at her straight on. He took her left wrist, pulling her from her lean. "It's all about the…subtle reactions," he said, skimming the tips of his fingers over her cheek. "The reactions a woman doesn't think anyone is able to see." Eames took a slow deep breath as Goren continued to drift over her skin, cautious to his movements. He kept his eyes locked with hers, lifting the hand his still circled. "Just a small touch is enough to do the trick." Goren slid his fingers under her palm as he drew her arm between their bodies. "If, if you know what to look for." She followed Goren's eyes as he looked down. Eames hand rested fingers over Goren's as he used the index finger from his other hand to trace a path from her wrist, across the back of her hand, slipping in between her middle and ring fingers.

"That tickles, Bobby," Eames laughed.

"Well, that's not the right place then." Goren held back a knowing smile as he softly kissed the back of Eames' hand. He gently placed her hand over her lap and let his wander to her knee. "It shouldn't tickle. It should…tingle." Moving his free hand to her face, he strayed the backs of his fingers along the line of her jaw, feeling the tension rising in her body. He stopped below her lips, turning his hand to brush a finger over the corner of her mouth. Eames' lips parted slightly under his touch, experiencing the tingle of which he spoke, inciting the thoughts she'd mulled over during the ride to Goren's apartment. "It should distract." Goren's finger left her lips, coasting down over her chin, brushing across her collar bone as his other hand deftly uncrossed her legs. "It should…heighten…_every_ sensation in the body." Goren shifted his position again, stepping between Eames' knees as his hands swept her hair over her shoulders, the slightest brush of his fingers against her neck. He followed the sensitive spot behind her ear. Eames closed her eyes and turned her head away from Goren, the intensity of his touch overwhelming her. "Until the moment's right…to kiss her." Goren's voice was quiet as the tips of his fingers found Eames' chin, drawing her mouth to his.

Eames stiffened slightly as Goren kissed her, gentle but insistent. She hadn't noticed the change in Goren's stance until his arms were wrapped around her smaller frame, one fully around her waist, the other around the middle of her back. He pulled her towards the edge of the countertop, holding her flush against his body, her hands resting on his shoulders. The cautious voice in Eames' head was silenced as she was unable to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Goren enveloping her in every sense. Goren pulled back. Eames' breathing matched his own ragged rhythm. He raised a finger to gently part her lips, just enough to touch his tongue across the middle of her top lip. Urged along by the tremble in Eames' body, he opened her mouth a little more, angling his head to attain complete conquest.

As Goren leaned in to take full possession of his partner, he was stilled by a chirp from his cell phone, signaling a text had been received. Eames licked her lips and opened her eyes, meeting Goren's. He shook his head slowly, indicating he had no intention of answering the phone. Goren lifted her chin, attempting once more to dominate her mouth. This time they were interrupted by Eames' phone. They pulled apart, knowing there was only one thing that would cause their phones to twitter at the same time. Goren stepped back, gently taking Eames' hands and helping her off the countertop. She moved to the table and retrieved her phone from her purse. Goren grabbed his from the far end of the small kitchen.

"It's Ross," Goren said. Eames nodded.

"Moran wants to see us Monday." Eames tossed the phone back into the purse. "I'm going to guess it's not to congratulate us on closing the case."

"Probably not," Goren agreed. He set his phone on the counter, watching Eames. She kept her head down, fingers tracing small, invisible circles on the table. Her hair covered a good portion of her face, hiding it from Goren's view.

"Bobby," Eames said quietly, still focused on her fingers' movements on the table. "Maybe we should…just call it a night." Goren leaned back against the countertop, slid his hands into his pockets and nodded slowly.

"Why?" he asked. Eames turned to him, a hesitant look about her.

"Because, Bobby…Because you can't kiss me like that and…" Her voice trailed off and she again looked down. "I should go," she said, tapping two fingers softly on the table. "I should go." Eames grabbed her purse and walked into the living room. Goren waited until she reached the chair by the front window, letting her purse carefully fall into the cushions so she could collect her coat.

"Eames?" She took a deep breath and turned to see Goren walking towards her. "How should I kiss you?" he asked.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he said, stopping in front of her. "You said I can't kiss you like that. How should I kiss you?" Eames shook her head, not knowing what she should say. "Maybe…with a soft touch." Goren stepped closer, running his hands lightly down her sleeved arms, again feeling the tension in her body. Eames looked at him, but refused to meet his eyes. He hooked a finger under her chin, gently tilting her head upward. Leaning forward, Goren kissed her softly, lips unmoving over hers. Eames tried to pull away but his arm slipped around her waist keeping her close. His lips, still motionless over her mouth, lingered as she fidgeted in his arms. Tilting his head in the other direction, Goren dropped his finger from her chin, allowing both arms to encircle her. He kissed her again. Once…twice…three times he touched his lips to hers, each encounter lasting a fraction of a second longer than the previous.

"Bobby…" she whispered, eyes closed.

"Maybe…a little more purpose." He tightened an arm around her waist and raised the other to curl his fingers roughly in her hair. Her hands moved reflexively to his chest. Goren forcibly kissed her, persistent against her feeble attempts to stop him. He paused briefly to allow Eames a quick breath before he continued his assault, pushing her back against the wall in the process. He pressed into her a little harder each time she tried to squirm away from him. "Tell me to stop, Eames," he said, teasing her mouth open with near contact of his.

"Bobby," she said breathlessly. "We—" Goren silenced her with a soft drawn-out kiss. His hand left her hair, fingers trailing across her neck. Ending the kiss with an agonizingly slow release of Eames' lips, he pulled back.

"Tell me, Eames," Goren said quietly. Eames shifted and moved her hands. With increased concentration on her movements, she carefully pushed him back a step.

"Bobby, I—" Goren kissed her again, possessively as he felt a shiver shimmer through her. He ended this kiss as abruptly as he had started it. Eames shook her head, again moving Goren back a step, but not arguing when he pulled her with.

"Eames…" Goren's voice a whisper now as he leaned his forehead against hers. "Stay." His mouth moved lightly across her lips as he waited. Eames whined softly then leaned forward to return the kiss, giving Goren the answer he wanted.

**Epilogue**

Declan sighed and leaned an elbow on the top of the steering wheel of his rental car. He'd had been watching for a while, far longer than he knew anyone would suspect. A little over nine years ago, while attending a series of lectures in Minneapolis, he'd stopped at a delightful café to enjoy a freshly brewed cup of coffee and the local newspaper. Though he did a good portion of research on the internet, he detested reading the news on-line, doing so only when absolutely necessary. He liked the feel of the paper, soft and fragile in its recycled form, in his hands. The smell of the paper mixed with that of the ink reminded him of his younger days when he would read the newspaper while settled in his father's lap. The Twin Cities' paper fronted an article of a young woman, seventeen years of age, brutally murdered, her killer not yet found. The article left nearly every detail to the reader's imagination, so he called in a favor from one of the few friends he still had.

Declan was fascinated by the depth of emotion, of anger displayed in the slaying, and by the heedful way all evidence of the murderer had been erased. He knew such calculated callousness could only be the design of a serial killer. After his stay in Minneapolis ended, Declan kept in contact with his friend, collecting details of three more murders over the following three months. During the next several years, Declan continued to track the macabre killings as the spree swept across the country. With a honed ability in profiling and a unique understanding of a killer's mind, Declan concluded two people were responsible for the murders. Declan could have, at any point, gone to police with the insight he held, but he knew he wouldn't be welcomed or listened to, and letting the murders continue only lengthened his opportunity to study the viciousness.

At the beginning of the year, having been invited to speak at a conference, Declan found himself in Seattle in the beginning of a dreary January. In a bout of dumb luck, he also found himself face to face with the killers. He'd been minding his own business, nursing a drink at a small and quiet bar, when two young men took residence in the stools to his left. They ordered their drinks and asked the bartender to turn up the volume of the television set suspended over the far corner of the counter. Declan turned to the television, his curiosity piqued, and listened as the news anchor spoke of a murdered woman. The young men laughed and talked quietly, Declan able to make out only one word.

"Whores?" Declan blurted. He swirled the last mouthful of amber liquid around the bottom of his glass as the men looked at him. He pulled a pretzel from a small wooden dish in front of him, holding it between his thumb and middle finger as he pointed to the television set. "She probably deserved it," he commented, popping the pretzel into his mouth.

"Probably." Declan turned, meeting the eyes of the young man with red hair.

"Ever been to New York?" The men shook their heads. "The Big Apple's full of whores." Declan watched a slow smile spread across the red-haired man's face, excitement growing in his young eyes. It was all he needed to know the young men were the killers. Swallowing the last of his drink, Declan bid the men a good night and left the bar.

When news came in July of the first murder in New York, Declan had practically come undone. The whole ordeal, as he expected, would end up in the hands of Major Case, in the hands of his protégé, Detective Robert Goren. Declan knew Goren would be the one to not only find the killers, but to find the connection to all committed country wide. After faltering with his profiling ability during his partner's kidnapping, Declan knew this case would get Goren back into the game, back on track. It had been too soon for Declan to travel to New York, however. Declan needed to wait until the young men were farther into their web before he could watch Goren close in on them. Declan found a few conferences in New York in the beginning of November, hardly able to hold his enthusiasm as his late-night flight neared the city.

Before heading to the hotel that night, Declan had stopped at Givelle's restaurant to order a quick meal. He paused in the doorway, hiding behind a woman holding her young child in her arms, and peered through the thick crowd at the red-haired man behind the bar. The corners of Declan's mouth quirked in an almost giddy smile as he had, once again found the killers. He skipped his dinner, waiting in his car across the street from the restaurant, hoping to follow the young man home. Declan decided he would not share this information with Goren, wanting him to make the connection when the time was right.

Knowing the killers had broken their pattern, not leaving a body in the month of October, Declan was anxious to talk to Goren, elicit details and theories from the man he had mentored. The next night, as Declan neared the front door of Goren's apartment, he stopped at the window, watching between the curtains as Goren occupied himself with a woman. At any other point, it would not have caused alarm, but Declan could not let Goren be pulled away from the case at hand and he charged in, ready to relieve the detective of all diversions. To his not-so-pleasant surprise, Declan discovered the woman was Alexandra Eames, Goren's partner. Declan's conversation with Goren had yielded no information on the progress of the case. He left the detective's apartment empty-handed and unfulfilled.

As he drove back to the hotel, Declan considered Eames' position in the case. She was going undercover and Declan pondered tipping off the killers, using them to rid Goren of Eames for good. During Eames' kidnapping, Declan realized Goren had feelings for his partner. Goren had not yet come to that conclusion and Declan hoped he never would. Eames, physically, was not the type of woman Goren usually sought. But, their connection, their closeness from having worked together for so long gave Eames a rare familiarity of Goren. He was clearly, naively entrusted in this relationship and any progression of Goren's feelings could prevent him from being the great profiler and detective Declan knew him to be.

Removing Eames from Goren's life was a thought the killers had almost completed for him. Declan tracked them for a week, watching in the shadows as they followed Eames around the city, settling that final night in front of Goren's apartment. Declan did not want to see Goren caught in the crossfire, injured because of his partner. Driving his car to the front sidewalk, Declan rushed through the brisk cold to Goren's front door. He offered one last plea for Goren to forget Eames, to eliminate any hold she had on him. Under the guise of heading to the airport, Declan left Goren's apartment, again disappointed, and headed back to the hotel.

Sighing again, Declan shifted his position in the driver's seat of the silver rental car. Nine years of watching and waiting brought him to this point. Goren was a good profiler and detective, but he had not come close to reaching his full potential. During Eames' kidnapping, Declan had to walk Goren through the thought processes. It was almost as though Goren had forgotten everything Declan had taught him. Now, again, Goren was distracted and in danger of losing that vital talent. Moving his face a little closer to the driver's side window, Declan peered across the dimly-lit street and through the open curtains. He watched as Goren approached Eames, wrapping his arm around her, pressing his lips against hers.

"Bobby, Bobby, Bobby," he said, shaking his head. He shoved the key into the ignition and started the car. "Looks like I have one more lesson to teach you."

a/n….hmmm….


End file.
